fluhlir 


ESTABLISHED    1881 


nz 


THE 


WOODS  AND  BY-WAYS 


NEW    ENGLAND. 


BY 


WILSON    FLAGG, 

AUTHOR  OF  "STUDIES  IN  FIELD  AND  FOREST. 


Illustrations. 


The  temples  of  the  gods  made  desolate, 
They  leave  the  earth  to  curses  bom  of  art  ; 
Degenerate  man  resumes  the  bow  and  quiver, 
And  beauty  sleeps  until  another  dawn. 


BOSTON: 
JAMES   R.   OSGOOD   AND    COMPANY, 

LATB  TICKNOB  &  FIELDS,  AND  FIELDS,  OSOOOD,  &  Co. 

1872. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1872, 

BY   JAMES   R.    OSGOOD   &   CO., 
in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


FREE' 

PUBLIC  LIBRARY, 
MATTAPOISETT 


UNIVERSITY  PRESS  :  WELCH,  BIGELOW,  &  Co., 
CAMBRIDGE. 


DEDICATOKY    EPISTLE. 


To  DANIEL  RICKETSON,  ESQ., 

AUTHOR  OF  "  THE  AUTUMN  SHEAF,"  etc. 

MY  DEAR  RICKETSON  :  — 

Soon  after  my  "  Studies  in  Field  and  Forest "  appeared,  you 
mentioned,  as  one  of  the  faults  of  the  book,  that  the  author  is 
not  sufficiently  identified  with  it,  and  so  rarely  alludes  to  him- 
self or  his  adventures  that  it  wants  the  interest  which  a  little 
egotism  would  impart  to  it.  I  observe  also  that  Thoreau, 
in  one  of  his  "  Letters,"'  complains  of  my  lack  of  enthusiasm. 
As  Thoreau  and  I  never  met,  he  must  have  formed  this 
opinion  from  my  writings ;  but  those  who  know  me  and  my 
habits  would  say  that  my  life  has  been  too  retired  for  that 
sort  of  personal  adventure  which  inspires  enthusiasm,  or  cre- 
ates a  necessity  for  making  self  one  of  the  subjects  of  dis- 
course. My  life  has  been  passed  with  my  family  in  almost 
entire  seclusion,  hardly  interrupted  by  a  small  circle  of  friends 
and  kinsmen,  who,  being  engaged  in  trade,  have  not  been 
my  companions ;  for  men  of  letters  and  commercial  men,  how 
much  so  ever  they  may  hold  each  other  in  mutual  esteem,  are 
seldom  intimates.  And  as  I  have  had  no  social  intercourse 
with  any  person  who  is  distinguished  in  science,  literature,  the 
fine  arts,  or  by  wealth,  politics,  or  civil  position,  I  have  lived 
almost  alone  in  the  world.  I  have  devoted  my  social  hours 
exclusively  to  my  own  family,  and  having  had  access,  until 
my  late  domiciliation  in  Cambridge,  to  but  few  books,  I  have 
studied  Nature  more  than  the  library,  employing  my  time  in 
observing  her  aspects  and  interpreting  her  problems,  more  than 
in  reading  or  hearing  the  observations  of  others. 


iv  DEDICATORY  EPISTLE. 

Few  men  save  those  who  from  religious  motives  have  re- 
nounced the  world  have  lived  so  little  in  communication  with 
it  as  I  have.  I  am  not  a  member  of  any  society  or  club,  of 
any  church  or  institution,  trade,  profession,  or  organization. 
Though  once  a  student  of  Harvard  College,  I  am  not  a  gradu- 
ate ;  and  though  ha  my  early  manhood  for  many  years  a  con- 
tributor to  the  political  press,  I  have  never  been  an  editor  nor 
a  politician.  I  have  lived  entirely  without  honors,  and  have 
never  rejected  any.  And  if,  possibly,  I  have  on  any  occasion 
manifested  an  appreciable  amount  of  boldness  or  independence 
in  speaking  my  thoughts  and  avowing  my  opinions,  any  such 
eccentricity  may  be  attributed  to  this  circumstance ;  for  every 
honor  a  man  receives  from  the  community  is  a  fetter  upon  his 
freedom  of  speech  and  action.  I  have  not  been  drawn  into 
society  by  a  taste  for  its  amusements  or  its  vices ;  I  have  not 
joined  the  crowd  either  of  its  saints  or  its  sinners ;  I  have  pur- 
sued my  tasks  alone,  except  as  I  have  read  and  conversed  with 
my  wife  and  children.  She  and  they  have  been  the  only  com- 
panions of  my  studies  and  recreations  during  all  the  prime  of 
my  life.  But,  perhaps  from  this  cause  alone,  I  have  been  very 
happy.  The  study  of  nature  and  my  domestic  avocations 
have  yielded  me  a  full  harvest  of  pleasures,  though  it  was 
barren  of  honors. 

When  you  read  this  volume,  you  will  discover,  if  you  open 
it  as  a  work  of  technical  exactness  in  its  descriptions  of 
natural  objects,  that  it  has  no  such  merit.  Though  I  have 
probably  passed  more  time  in  the  woods  than  any  man  who 
is  not  a  woodcutter  by  trade,  I  have  not  been  a  collector  of 
specimens,  nor  a  dissector  of  birds  and  flowers,  nor  a  measurer 
of  trees,  nor  a  hammerer  of  rocks.  I  know  the  value  of  this 
kind  of  research,  but  my  observations  are  of  a  different  char- 
acter. I  distinguish  the  objects  of  nature  as  I  distinguish 
my  friends  by  physiognomical  marks.  My  book  differs  from 
learned  works  as  Lavater's  "  Physiognomy  "  differs  from  Che- 
selden's  "  Anatomy,"  or  as  a  lover's  description  of  his  lady's 
hand  would  differ  from  Bell's  anatomical  description  of  it. 
I  mention  these  things,  not  with  any  vulgar  depreciation  of 


DEDICATORY   EPISTLE.  V 

technical  science,  but  that  the  reader  may  not  seek  in  this 
volume  for  matters  which  it  does  not  contain. 

In  describing  the  aspects  of  nature,  I  have  selected  such 
views  as  afford  me  the  most  pleasure,  endeavoring  by  my 
manner  of  presenting  them  to  inspire  the  reader  with  the 
same  agreeable  sensations.  I  have  aimed,  not  so  much  to 
make  a  graphic  picture  of  any  scene  from  which  a  painter 
might  with  his  brush  or  pencil  obtain  a  copy  on  canvas,  as, 
on  the  other  hand,  to  make  the  reader  feel  as  he  would  in  the 
presence  of  it.  I  have  also  confined  my  descriptions  to  ordi- 
nary scenes.  These  alone  have  been  my  study.  The  objects 
that  meet  our  view  in  our  walks  outside  of  any  village  in  the 
country,  the  beauty  of  a  plain  cottage  and  its  picturesque  in- 
mates, with  their  baskets  of  whortleberries  and  their  bundles 
of  dried  herbs,  and  the  common  trees  and  shrubs  of  the  forest 
and  the  wayside,  form  the  subjects  of  my  essays.  From  them 
I  have  studied  the  oracles  of  nature,  and  in  these  pages  I 
have  given  their  interpretations  as  I  understand  them. 

Some  of  my  friends  have  asked  me  why  I  selected  so  hack- 
neyed a  topic  as  nature,  whose  beauties  and  whose  phases 
have  been  so  often  described  that  every  sentence  one  may 
write  on  this  subject  can  hardly  be  anything  more  than  the 
repetition  of  some  platitude.  I  reply  that  I  have  described 
these  things  because  I  am  familiar  with  them,  and  may  treat 
of  them  without  offending  popular  prejudices,  as  I  might  if  I 
were  to  discourse  upon  ethics  or  politics.  But  the  subjects 
I  have  chosen  are  not  so  hackneyed  as  many  suppose  them  to 
be.  Popular  writers  on  Nature's  aspects  have  generally  been 
tourists  or  landscape  gardeners ;  and  her  grander  scenes  have 
been  selected  by  one  class,  and  artificial  or  dressed  landscape 
by  the  other.  These  matters,  as  the  reader  will  soon  dis- 
cover, have  no  part  in  my  descriptions.  I  ought  to  allude 
also  to  the  writers  on  landscape  painting,  who,  with  all  their 
professed  admiration  of  Nature,  always  place  her  in  subordina- 
tion to  art. 

With  regard  to  the  style  of  these  essays,  I  will  only  say 
that  it  has  been  my  principal  aim  to  express  my  thoughts  with 


vi  DEDICATORY  EPISTLE. 

clearness  and  simplicity ;  and  as  metaphors,  except  in  rare  in- 
stances, tend  to  obscurity,  I  have  not  sought  for  them  as  em- 
bellishments. Though  a  certain  vagueness  of  description  is 
often  favorable  to  our  purpose  if  we  would  only  excite  sen- 
sations, precision  is  the  first  point  to  be  attained  when  we 
would  convey  to  the  reader's  mind  a  philosophic  truth.  I 
have  not  studied  to  express  my  thoughts  by  any  peculiarity 
of  language,  but  by  the  use  of  simple  and  common  terms  to 
render  them  lucid  and  interesting. 

In  you,  my  dear  sir,  I  have  in  the  autumn  of  my  life  met 
with  a  friend  from  whom  I  have  learned  to  view  nature  in  a 
new  variety  of  aspects  ;  to  you  I  would  respectfully  dedicate 
this  volume,  and  take  this  opportunity  to  acknowledge  the 
pleasure  I  have  derived  from  your  friendship,  and  to  assure 
you  how  much  I  feel  honored  by  it. 

WILSON   FLAGG. 


TO    THE    EEADER. 


I  HAVE  written  this  volume  not  with  any  desire  to  stay  the 
progress  of  those  improvements  which  are  necessary  to  the 
wants  of  an  increasing  population.  We  are  carried  along  by 
an  irresistible  current,  and  any  effort  to  stay  it  would  be  a 
striving  against  fate.  But  as  a  river  may  to  a  certain  extent 
be  directed  in  its  course,  though  it  cannot  be  stopped,  in  like 
manner  may  the  progress  of  the  civilized  arts  be  modified  by 
a  common  intelligence,  so  as  not  to  destroy  the  land  whose 
population  they  sustain.  My  object  is  to  inspire  my  readers 
with  a  love  of  nature  and  simplicity  of  life,  confident  that  the 
great  fallacy  of  the  present  age  is  that  of  mistaking  the  in- 
crease of  the  national  wealth  for  the  advancement  of  civiliza- 
tion. Our  peril  lies  in  the  speed  with  which  every  work  goes 
forward,  rendering  us  liable,  in  our  frantic  efforts  to  grasp 
certain  objects  of  immediate  value,  to  leave  ruin  and  desola- 
tion in  our  track  which  will  render  worthless  all  the  desirable 
objects  we  have  attained.  In  this  work  I  have  discussed  its 
several  points  chiefly  with  reference  to  our  material  welfare. 
The  ethical  part  of  the  subject  I  have  treated  more  fully  in 
an  unpublished  volume  entitled  "  The  Progress  and  Perils  of 
Civilization  in  America." 


DOMESTIC  SCENERY  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 


WHEN  journeying  in  New  England  you  cannot  fail  to  be 
charmed  with  those  old  roads  that  pass  through  the  ruder 
parts  of  the  early  settlements  which  have  not  been  changed 
by  the  improvements  that  follow  any  sudden  increase  of  com- 
mercial prosperity.  Many  of  them,  which  at  first  were  high- 
ways, are  at  present  only  by-roads  to  some  little  hamlet, 
situated  apart  from  the  great  thoroughfares  of  commerce,  and 
retaining  the  simplicity  of  a  former  era.  It  is  delightful  to 
enter  by  chance  upon  one  of  these  old  roads,  when  it  will 
carry  you  half  a  day's  journey  on  foot,  without  the  intrusion 
upon  your  sight  of  a  steam-factory  or  a  railroad  station.  Some 
of  these  ways  are  not  traversed  enough  to  obliterate  the  two 
rows  of  grass  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  so  suggestive  of  quiet 
and  homely  retirement.  The  farm-houses  that  meet  your 
sight  are  among  the  few  remaining  examples  of  the  simple 
style  of  building  that  prevailed  here  during  the  last  century. 
These  and  the  objects  connected  with  them  form  the  most 
interesting  and  representative  scenery  of  New  England,  and  I 
mark  and  admire  them  as  distinguishing  this  country  from  all 
the  rest  of  the  world. 

Some  people  look  upon  these  scenes  as  points  where  pro- 
gress and  civilization  are  at  a  stand,  and  turn  away  from  them 
with  displeasure.  But  there  is  another  view  that  is  more 
rational  and  nearer  the  truth.  These  objects,  though  not 
borne  on  the  great  tide  of  civilization,  are  some  of  its  most 
beneficent  results.  If  you  watch  a  river  flowing  impetuously 
over  plains  and  through  valleys,  you  may  suppose  its  moving 
mass  of  waters  to  represent  the  great  highways  and  thorough- 


X  DOMESTIC   SCENERY  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

fares  of  commerce,  and  to  emblem  the  progress  and  enterprise 
of  man.  But  the  beauties  of  the  river  are  little  shallows  of 
still  water  covered  with  aquatic  flowers,  and  green  masses  of 
shrubbery  that  afford  a  harbor  to  the  singing-birds.  These 
quiet  and  flowery  inlets,  fed  by  the  stream,  but  not  joining  in 
its  motion,  represent  the  rural  hamlets  described  in  this  essay. 
They  are  nurtured  by  the  arts  and  refined  by  the  culture,  but 
not  corrupted  by  the  vices,  nor  disturbed  by  the  ambition,  of 
the  great  world.  Were  it  not  for  the  river's  moving  mass  of 
waters  these  quiet  inlets  of  beauty  could  not  exist ;  and  with- 
out this  impetuous  tide  of  commerce  and  the  arts,  these  remote 
hamlets  would  not  have  attained  civilization.  But  as  the 
world  moves  onward,  its  learning  and  culture,  its  virtue  and 
happiness,  turn  aside  and  linger  in  these  rural  retreats. 

When  passing  over  the  old  roads  of  New  England,  you  must 
take  heed  that  you  are  not  led  out  of  their  course  by  some 
new  and  shorter  cut.  The  road  that  winds  around  the  hill  or 
the  meadow  is  the  path  you  must  follow.  On  the  improved 
road  you  will  see  gravel  and  loam,  nice  new  houses  and 
painted  fences,  with  stiff  spruces  in  their  enclosures,  and  per- 
haps a  formal  clipped  hedge-row  in  front.  The  old  road  is 
bordered  with  wild  shrubbery,  groups  of  trees  of  bold  and 
irregular  growth,  and  here  and  there  a  solitary  standard,  always 
charmingly  out  of  place.  There  is  no  sameness  in  your  jour- 
ney. You  will  hardly  travel  a  furlong  through  the  woods  be- 
fore you  arrive  at  an  open  space  that  exposes  to  view  some 
beautiful  meadow,  lying  several  feet  below  the  level  of  the 
winding  road.  A  small  river  flows  in  an  irregular  course 
along  the  interval,  often  passing  out  of  sight  behind  some 
wooded  eminence,  then  reappearing,  its  surface  radiant  with 
purple  and  amethyst,  now  smooth  as  a  mirror,  then  gleaming 
and  sparkling  from  a  thousand  rippling  waves.  Nothing  can 
surpass  the  grouping  of  the  woods  in  these  natural  openings, 
enlivened  with  an  occasional  farm-house,  its  barns  and  sheds 
and  peaceful  flocks,  and  revealing  in  the  distance  the  church- 
spire  of  a  neighboring  hamlet.  As  the  trees  consist  chiefly  of 
maple,  ash,  and  tupelo,  with  a  few  oaks,  and  a  border  growth 


DOMESTIC    SCENEKY   OF   NEW   ENGLAND.  xi 

of  cornels,  viburnums,  and  whortleberry-bushes,  you  should 
visit  one  of  these  places  to  see  the  most  beautiful  display  of 
autumnal  wood-scenery. 

Whatever  course  you  may  take,  you  will  arrive  occasionally 
at  a  railroad  station  ;  but  the  new  village  suddenly  built  upon 
any  such  point  is  without  peculiar  attractions.  Some  of  the 
houses  are  models  of  elegance,  but  they  are  like  all  others  in 
the  busy  world.  These  new  villages  are  the  cosmopolitan 
parts  of  New  England,  displaying  models  of  perfection  in 
ornate  art,  and  exposing  to  your  observation  only  what  may 
be  seen  in  every  new  city.  Their  scenery  is  not  what  the 
picturesque  eye  is  looking  for,  and  fails  to  represent  the  special 
features  of  this  part  of  the  country.  The  glare,  the  art,  the 
taste,  fashion,  and  ostentation  apparent  in  the  new  houses  in 
these  new  places  are  ornamental  patches  upon  the  landscape, 
and  are  not  peculiar  to  New  England. 

The  old  roads  in  the  Northeastern  States,  except  the  turn- 
pikes, were  never  "  laid  out."  They  are  but  the  widening  of 
paths  made  by  pedestrians  going  from  one  house  to  another,  or 
of  the  cartways  of  the  pioneer  farmer  and  woodman.  They 
are  generally  somewhat  elevated,  unless  they  are  carried  over 
a  plain.  They  are  situated  a  little  above  the  base  of  the  hills 
and  eminences  which  they  encircle,  to  avoid  the  wet  grounds 
and  the  entanglements  of  vines  and  shrubbery  that  crowd  the 
borders  of  all  the  lowlands.  All  along  the  course  of  these 
primitive  roads  are  constantly  rising  to  view  plain  farm- 
houses, with  their  barns  and  barnyards,  their  wells  with  cross- 
poles,  their  woodsheds,  their  workshops,  and  their  few  domes- 
tic animals.  Many  of  these  houses  were  originally  painted 
red,  with  white  facings.  Some  were  without  paint,  except 
their  white  borders,  neatly  contrasted  with  the  dark  stone- 
color  of  the  wooden  walls.  The  houses  are  generally  set  back 
a  few  rods  from  the  highway  and  shaded  by  elms.  They  are 
not  enclosed,  and  the  wide  slope  between  the  house  and  the 
road  is  grazed  by  the  farmer's  cattle. 

In  the  rear  of  the  house  is  a  cartway  leading  between  two 
irregular  rows  of  hickories,  oaks,  butternuts,  and  wild-cherry- 


xii  DOMESTIC   SCENERY  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

trees,  —  the  gratuitous  product  of  nature  and  chance.  The 
predominance  of  nut-bearing  trees  in  these  lanes  was  caused  by 
the  squirrels  that  harbor  in  the  loose  stone-walls  and  hoard 
their  surplus  of  nuts  by  planting  them  under  the  shrubbery 
in  the  borders.  This  path  leads  to  a  wood-lot,  and  is  often 
continued  through  the  forest,  making  one  of  those  green 
avenues  without  which  we  could  not  realize  half  the  attrac- 
tions of  a  wood.  Sometimes  the  farm-house  is  located  a  good 
distance  from  the  road,  and  is  approached  by  a  lane  gliding 
through  a  half-wooded  meadow,  and  bordered  with  Lombardy 
poplars.  In  the  course  of  your  journey  you  may  discover  a 
house  and  farm  enclosed  on  all  sides  by  the  forest,  when 
it  seems  a  little  paradise.  But  our  country-houses  generally 
stand  near  the  road,  or  distant  from  it  only  a  few  paces. 

The  New  England  farmer  is  a  hard-working  man ;  for  his 
land  is  neither  very  deep  nor  productive,  and  with  the  help 
of  his  sons,  or  perhaps  one  hired  man,  he  performs  all  the 
labor  upon  it.  He  gains  a  small  revenue  by  selling  the  prod- 
ucts of  the  farm  ;  but  if  this  were  his  only  resource,  his  lot 
would  be  hard.  Adjoining  the  house,  or  not  far  from  it, 
usually  a  little  nearer  the  road,  is  a  small  building  with  a 
single  door  and  three  or  four  windows,  used  for  a  workshop. 
When  his  harvest  is  gathered,  he  lays  aside  the  ploughshare 
and  the  reaping-hook,  and  takes  up  the  lapstone  for  his  win- 
ter's occupation.  The  farm  supplies  his  household  with 
domestic  products,  but  his  pecuniary  gains  come  chiefly  from 
his  labors  as  a  shoemaker. 

All  my  life  have  I  admired  these  little  picturesque  work- 
shops, when  traversing  the  old  roads  that  lead  from  one 
village  to  another.  They  are  perfectly  plain  and  simple  in 
their  style,  but  as  neat  as  they  are  unadorned,  and  beautiful 
from  their  expression  of  the  quiet  and  industrious  habits  of 
the  people  who  occupy  them.  There  are  no  objects  in  village 
scenery  that  so  pleasantly  harmonize  with  the  cheerful  scenes 
of  nature  as  the  plain  cottages  on  these  roads  and  their  little 
adjacent  shoemaker's  shops.  Nothing  in  the  world  could  so 
plainly  express  the  union  of  comfort,  freedom,  and  indepen- 


DOMESTIC   SCENERY  OF  NEW  ENGLAND.  xiii 

dence.  In  Europe  no  such  objects  are  to  be  seen.  There  the 
houses  of  the  peasantry  are  not  scattered  in  this  charmingly 
picturesque  manner  over  the  land.  They  are  huddled  to- 
gether in  cantonments,  like  the  Irish  houses  in  the  suburbs  of 
our  cities,  seldom  leaving  any  space  for  a  garden,  and  render- 
ing neatness  and  cleanliness  impossible. 

The  plain  and  economical  system  of  agriculture  still  pre- 
vailing in  many  parts  of  the  country,  where  the  only  changes 
that  have  been  adopted  are  improvements  in  tillage  and  im- 
plements, has  left  the  face  of  nature  undespoiled  of  its  native 
embroidery  by  the  vandalism  of  taste.  Here  the  country  is 
still  charming  to  every  philanthropist.  We  may  walk,  in  many 
parts,  over  a  distance  of  several  miles  of  such  landscape,  in- 
terspersed with  hundreds  of  plain  houses  and  their  workshops, 
as  beautiful  as  they  are  plain  and  simple,  and  as  picturesque 
as  the  wild  vines  that  trail  over  their  fences.  But  these 
charming  scenes  are  rapidly  disappearing,  and  in  the  same 
ratio  is  village  landscape  growing  ostentatious  and  insipid, 
showing  forth  the  vanity  of  the  owners  and  artists,  and  con- 
cealing the  occupations  and  all  the  interesting  habits  of  the 
villagers  under  a  vapid  counterfeit  of  the  fashions  of  cities. 

There  are  few  things  more  agreeable  in  village  scenery  than 
the  evidences  of  independent  labor  as  distinguished  from 
associated  labor  under  an  overseer.  Hence  the  beauty  of 
those  little  shoemaker's  shops,  formerly  so  numerous  in  the 
country,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  the  gloomy  appearance  of 
large  buildings  for  manufactures.  Even  if  there  were  proof 
that  the  operatives  in  the  employ  of  a  capitalist  are  as  com- 
fortable, as  thrifty,  and  as  happy  as  if  they  were  independent 
workmen,  we  still  associate  subordinate  labor  with  the  ambi- 
tious striving  of  a  few  at  the  expense  of  the  many.  A  factory 
village,  where  the  homes  of  those  who  labor  are  in  large  tene- 
ment-blocks, and  the  only  houses  outside  of  the  village  are 
the  ornate  residences  of  masters  and  superintendents,  is  vapid 
and  uninteresting.  Farm  labor  is  rapidly  losing  its  indepen- 
dent character  in  a  similar  way,  by  the  gradual  absorption  of 
agricultural  property  into  the  hands  of  wealthy  mortgagees, 


xiv  DOMESTIC   SCENEKY   OF   NEW  ENGLAND. 

and  the  conversion  of  independent  farm  laborers  into  menials. 
Therefore  do  we  with  the  more  satisfaction  recur  to  these  ves- 
tiges of  New  England  simplicity,  where  the  farmer  is  still  a 
yeoman,  and  look  with  delight  upon  the  single  workshops  in 
many  parts  of  our  land,  still  scattered  among  the  neat  and 
humble  cottages,  — a  smithy  in  the  heart  of  a  little  settlement, 
a  saw-mill  turned  by  a  brook,  and  other  buildings  devoted  to 
independent  labor. 

You  will  seldom  pass  a  country  village  without  seeing 
a  graveyard  in  its  vicinity ;  but  the  old  grounds  in  which 
slate  has  not  been  displaced  by  white  marble  are  the  only 
picturesque  objects  of  this  kind.  Our  ancestors  selected 
as  their  burial-place  a  quiet  spot  not  far  from  the  village, 
and  did  not  plant  it  with  trees  because  it  was  surrounded 
by  them.  Their  intention  was  to  preserve  the  relics  of  the 
dead  by  returning  them  to  the  dust,  and  to  commemorate 
their  life  by  a  simple  record  of  their  name  and  age.  The  cus- 
tom of  making  the  graveyard  a  pleasure-ground  is  of  modern 
origin.  At  the  present  time  these  old  enclosures  are  shaded 
by  a  few  trees  that  came  up  there  without  planting.  The 
most  common  are  the  locust,  the  wild  cherry,  the  velvet 
sumach,  and  the  Lombardy  poplar ;  and  we  have  learned  by 
habit  to  associate  their'  rugged  and  homely  appearance  with 
the  venerable  objects  that  accompany  them. 

You  can  hardly  conceive  how  much  of  the  beauty  of  these 
ancient  resting-places  of  the  dead  is  due  to  the  slate  that 
forms  the  gravestones.  Being  of  a  dark  color  it  harmonizes 
with  nature ;  it  is  sober,  but  not  sombre,  and,  unlike  marble, 
it  is  often  incrusted  with  lichens,  and  has  no  offensive  glare. 
These  are  our  only  "rural  cemeteries."  Modern  burying- 
grounds  are  but  conservatories  of  sculpture  and  other  works 
of  decorative  art.  The  use  of  white  marble,  be  it  ever  so  plain 
and  simple,  is  incompatible  with  any  idea  of  the  picturesque. 
But  when  it  is  carved  and  embellished  in  the  highest  style  of 
ornate  art,  we  look  upon  the  monuments  as  expressions  of  the 
vanity  of  the  living  under  an  ostentatious  display  of  reverence 
for  the  dead. 


DOMESTIC   SCENERY   OF   NEW  ENGLAND.  XV 

As  you  continue  your  journey,  the  frequent  changes  in  the 
course  of  the  road  are  constantly  varying  your  prospect.  So 
little  are  these  ways  traversed  that  they  are  seldom  defaced 
by  repairs.  The  green  rows  of  turf  that  mark  their  course 
have  in  many  places  seen  fifty  summers  without  disturbance. 
Now  you  are  led  a  long  distance  in  a  straight  direction 
over  a  plain,  each  side  of  the  road  being  covered  with  whor- 
tleberry-bushes, loaded  with  fruit  in  its  season,  and  you 
hear  the  halloos  and  frolic  of  children  while  employed  in 
gathering  it  into  baskets.  On  one  of  these  levels  you  will 
often  make  half  an  hour's  journey  through  a  sparse  growth  of 
birches  and  pines,  the  ground  being  covered  with  wild-rose- 
bushes, crimson  patches  of  lambkill,  bayberry,  sweet-fern,  and 
blackberry-vines,  the  greensward  glowing  with  the  purple 
cranesbill,  blue  and  white  violets,  and  red  summer  lilies.  This 
kind  of  scenery  is  always  open  and  cheerful,  for  the  sandy  soil 
is  dry  and  meagre,  and  supports  but  few  large  trees. 

Where  the  road  winds  among  the  hills,  the  views  it  affords 
would  charm  any  picturesque  observer.  It  is  seldom  straight 
for  more  than  a  few  hundred  paces,  and  as  you  pass  over  the 
uneven  grounds,  you  see  the  wood  and  shrubbery  in  every 
variety  of  grouping ;  for  wild  nature  and  the  works  of  domes- 
tic art  are  mingled  together  more  harmoniously  in  New  Eng- 
land than  in  any  other  country.  Sometimes  the  road  separates 
into  two  parts,  to  meet  again  after  leaving  a  long  narrow 
ledge  covered  with  wood,  flowers,  and  ferns,  and  forming  a 
perfect  aviary  of  singing-birds.  This  is  one  of  the  objects 
that  artistic  improvement  destroys,  and  then  makes  an  absurd 
imitation  of  it  in  a  city  park  or  a  private  pleasure-ground ; 
for  if  Fashion  admires  a  scene  in  nature,  she  is  still  more 
delighted  with  its  counterfeit.  The  road  seldom  passes  over 
the  top  of  the  hill;  it  winds  round  it,  unless  it  be  a  long 
ridge,  when  it  is  cut  through  it,  the  banks  on  each  side  being 
overhung  by  trees,  with  their  roots  half  exposed  from  the 
sliding  of  the  soil,  the  gravelly  sides  adorned  with  purple 
lupine,  yellow  St.  John's  wort,  and  the  delicate  flowers  of 
the  evening  primrose,  that  open  only  at  dewfalL 


xvi  DOMESTIC  SCENERY  OF  NEW  ENGLAND. 

The  road  may  soon  carry  you  into  the  deep  woods  ;  and  as 
the  woods  in  New  England,  except  those  in  bogs,  stand  chiefly 
upon  the  broken,  hilly,  and  intractable  parts  of  the  surface, 
your  course  will  be  for  a  while  through  grounds  as  rugged  as 
among  the  mountains  and  as  picturesque  as  any  mountain 
scenery  in  the  world.  It  is  delightful  to  emerge  out  of  the 
darkness  of  these  woods  into  an  open  valley  containing  a  vil- 
lage of  a  few  score  houses,  a  church  with  a  spire,  a  tavern, 
and  a  smithy,  all  enclosed  by  green  and  rugged  hills.  On  a 
little  grassy  plain  near  the  meeting  of  several  roads  leading 
from  different  points  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town  stands  the 
village  school-house.  It  is  a  square  building  of  one  story,  with 
a  hurricane  roof,  painted  red,  and  shaded  by  an  elm.  If  it  be 
summer,  when  the  sons  of  the  farmers  are  employed  upon  the 
land,  and  girls  and  small  children  only  attend  school,  the 
teacher  is  a  female,  — a  slender  young  woman,  who  has  chosen 
the  occupation  of  teaching,  while  her  more  buxom  sisters  are 
employed  in  active  tasks  at  home. 

The  roads  you  have  traversed  are  narrow  and  irregular, 
but  all  seem  to  terminate  in  this  charming  New  England  vil- 
lage, in  which  the  simplicity  of  an  earlier  period  is  joined  with 
the  culture,  refinement,  and  intelligence  of  the  present  day. 
Many  enchanting  scenes  are  assembled  in  it  and  hallow  it;  the 
plains  are  daisied  with  wild  flowers,  the  surrounding  hills  are 
dressed  in  verdure  and  crowned  with  tall  trees  that  seem  like 
the  guardians  of  its  tranquillity.  But  the  pride  of  the  valley 
is  this  young  teacher.  The  groves  are  but  the  arbor  of  which 
she  is  the  sylph.  Every  circle  in  which  she  is  imparadised  is 
enlivened  by  her  wit  and  beautified  by  her  presence.  Here 
you  will  remain  and  be  happy,  until  ambition  tempts  you  to 
join  the  tumult  of  commerce,  and  causes  you  to  forget  those 
sweet  domestic  scenes  hi  which  is  enshrined  all  the  happiness 
to  be  found  in  this  world. 


THE  WOODS  A3SD  BY-WATS   OF 
NEW  ENGLAKD. 


THE  PEIMITIVE  FOEEST. 

WHEN  the  Pilgrim  first  landed  on  the  coast  of  America, 
the  most  remarkable  feature  of  its  scenery  that  drew  his 
attention,  next  to  the  absence  of  towns  and  villages,  was 
an  almost  universal  forest.  A  few  openings  were  to  be 
seen  near  the  rivers, — immense  peat-meadows  covered 
with  wild  bushes  and  gramineous  plants,  interspersed 
with  little  wooded  islets,  and  bordered  on  all  sides  by  a 
rugged,  silent,  and  dreary  desert  of  woods.  Partial  clear- 
ings had  likewise  been  made  by  the  Indians  for  their 
rude  hamlets,  and  some  spaces  had  been  opened  by  fire. 
But  the  greater  part  of  the  country  was  darkened  by  an 
umbrageous  mass  of  trees  and  shrubbery,  in  whose  gloomy 
shades  were  ever  present  dangers  and  bewilderment  for 
the  traveller.  In  these  solitudes  the  axe  of  the  woodman 
had  never  been  heard,  and  the  forest  for  thousands  of  years 
had  been  subject  only  to  the  spontaneous  action  of  natural 
causes.  To  men  who  had  been  accustomed  to  the  open 
and  cultivated  plains  of  Europe,  this  waste  of  woods, 
those  hills  without  prospect,  that  pathless  wilderness, 
and  its  inhabitants  as  savage  as  the  aspect  of  the  coun- 
try, must  have  seemed  equally  sublime  and  terrible. 

But  when  the  colonists  had  cut  roads  through  this 
desert,  planted  landmarks  over  the  country,  built  houses 


2  THE  PRIMITIVE  FOREST. 

upon  its  clearings,  opened  the  hill-tops  to  a  view  of  the 
surrounding  prospect,  and  cheered  the  solitude  by  some 
gleams  of  civilization,  then  came  the  naturalist  and  the 
man  of  science  to  survey  the  aspect  and  productions  of 
this  new  world.  And  when  they  made  their  first  ex- 
cursions over  its  rugged  hills  and  through  its  wooded 
vales,  we  can  easily  imagine  their  transports  at  the  sight 
of  its  peculiar  scenery.  How  must  the  early  botanist 
have  exulted  over  this  grand  assemblage  of  plants,  that 
bore  resemblance  to  those  of  Europe  only  as  the  wild 
Indian  resembles  the  fair-haired  Saxon !  Everywhere 
some  rare  herb  put  forth  flowers  at  his  feet,  and  trees  of 
magnificent  height  and  slender  proportions  intercepted 
his  progress  by  their  crowded  numbers.  The  wood  was 
so  generally  uninterrupted,  that  it  was  difficult  to  find  a 
summit  from  which  he  could  obtain  a  lookout  of  any 
considerable  extent ;  but  occasional  natural  openings  ex- 
posed floral  scenes  that  must  have  seemed  like  the  work 
of  enchantment.  In  the  wet  meadows  were  deep  beds 
of  moss  of  the  finest  verdure,  which  had  seldom  been 
disturbed  by  man  or  brute.  On  the  uplands  were  vast 
fields  of  the  checkerberry  plant,  social,  like  the  European 
heath,  and  loaded  half  the  year  with  its  spicy  scarlet 
fruit.  Every  valley  presented  some  unknown  vegetation 
to  his  sight,  and  every  tangled  path  led  him  into  a  new 
scene  of  beauties  and  wonders.  It  must  have  seemed  to 
him,  when  traversing  this  strange  wilderness,  that  he 
had  entered  upon  a  new  earth,  in  which  nature  had  im- 
itated, without  repeating,  the  productions  of  his  native 
East. 

Along  the  level  parts  of  New  England  and  the  ad- 
jacent country,  wherever  the  rivers  were  languid  in  their 
course,  and  partially  inundated  their  banks  in  the  spring, 
were  frequent  natural  meadows,  not  covered  by  trees,  — 
the  homes  of  the  robin  and  the  bobolink  before  the 


THE  PRIMITIVE   FOREST.  3 

white  man  had  opened  to  them  new  fields  for  their  sub- 
sistence. In  the  borders  of  these  openings,  the  woods 
in  early  summer  were  filled  with  a  sweet  and  novel  min- 
strelsy, contrasting  delightfully  with  the  silence  of  the 
deeper  forest.  The  notes  of  the  birds  were  wild  varia- 
tions of  those  which  were  familiar  to  the  Pilgrim  in  his 
native  land,  and  inspired  him  with  delight  amidst  the 
all-prevailing  sadness  of  woods  that  presented  on  the 
one  hand  scenes  both  grand  and  beautiful,  and  teemed  on 
the  other  with  horrors  which  only  the  pioneer  of  the  des- 
ert could  describe. 

The  whole  continent,  at  the  time  of  its  discovery,  from 
the  coast  to  the  Great  American  Desert,  was  one  vast 
hunting-ground,  where  the  nomadic  inhabitants  obtained 
their  subsistence  from  the  chase  of  countless  herds  of 
deer  and  buffalo.  At  this  period  the  climate  had  not 
been  modified  by  the  operations  of  man  upon  the  forest. 
It  was  less  variable  than  now,  and  the  temperature  cor- 
responded more  definitely  with  the  degrees  of  latitude. 
The  winter  was  a  season  of  more  invariable  cold,  less  in- 
terrupted by  thaws.  In  New  England  and  the  other 
Northern  States,  snow  fell  in  the  early  part  of  De- 
cember, and  lay  on  the  ground  until  April,  when  the 
spring  opened  suddenly,  and  was  not  followed  by  those 
vicissitudes  that  mark  the  season  at  the  present  era. 
Such  was  the  true  forest  climate.  May-day  came  gar- 
landed with  flowers,  lighted  with  sunshine,  and  breathing 
the  odors  of  a  true  spring.  It  was  then  easy  to  foretell 
what  the  next  season  would  be  from  its  character  the  pre- 
ceding years.  Autumn  was  not  then,  as  we  have  often 
seen  it,  extended  into  winter.  The  limits  of  each  season 
were  more  precisely  defined,  -  The  continent  was  an- 
nually visited  by  the  Indian  summer,  that  came,  without 
fail,  immediately  after  the  fall  of  the  leaf  and  the  first 
hard  frosts  of  November.  This  short  season  of  mild  and 


4  THE  PRIMITIVE  FOREST. 

serene  weather,  the  halcyon  period  of  autumn,  has  dis- 
appeared with  the  primitive  forest. 

The  original  circumstances  of  the  country  have  been 
entirely  revolutionized.  The  American  climate  is  now  in 
that  transition  state  which  has  been  caused  by  opening 
the  space  to  the  winds  from  all  quarters  by  operations 
which  have  not  yet  been  carried  to  their  extreme  limit. 
These  changes  of  the  surface  have  probably  increased  the 
mean  annual  temperature  of  the  whole  country  by  per- 
mitting the  direct  rays  of  the  sun  to  act  upon  a  wider 
area,  while  they  have  multiplied  those  eccentricities  of 
climate  that  balk  our  weather  calculations  at  all  seasons. 
There  are  still  in  many  parts  of  the  country  large  tracts 
of  wood  which  have  not  been  greatly  disturbed.  From 
the  observation  of  these,  and  from  descriptions  by  differ- 
ent writers  of  the  last  century,  we  may  form  a  pretty 
fair  estimate  of  the  character  and  aspect  of  the  forest  be- 
fore it  was  invaded  by  civilized  man. 

During  this  primitive  condition  of  the  country,  the 
forest,  having  been  left  for  centuries  entirely  to  nature, 
would  have  formed  a  very  intelligible  geological  chart. 
If  we  could  have  taken  an  extensive  view  of  the  New 
England  forest,  before  any  considerable  inroads  had  been 
made  by  the  early  settlers,  from  an  elevated  stand  on  the 
coast,  we  should  have  beheld  a  dense  and  almost  univer- 
sal covering  of  trees.  From  this  stand  we  might  also 
trace  the  geological  character  of  the  soil,  and  its  differ- 
ent degrees  of  fertility,  dryness,  and  moisture,  by  the 
predominance  of  certain  species  and  the  absence  of  others. 
The  undulations  upon  this  vast  ocean  of  foliage  would 
come  from  the  elevations  and  depressions  of  the  ground ; 
for  the  varying  heights  of  the  different  assemblages  of 
species  upon  the  same  level  could  hardly  be  perceived 
by  a  distant  view.  The  lowest  parts  of  this  wooded 
region  were  at  that  period  covered  very  generally  with  a 


THE  PKIMITIVE  FOREST.  5 

crowded  growth  of  the  northern  cypress,  or  white  cedar. 
These  evergreen  swamps  would  constitute  the  darkest 
ground  of  the  picture.  The  deep  alluvial  tracts  would 
be  known  by  the  deciduous  character  of  their  woods 
and  their  lighter  and  brighter  verdure,  and  the  dry, 
sandy  and  diluvial  plains  and  the  gravelly  hills  and 
eminences  by  their  white  birches  and  tremulous  poplars, 
their  stunted  pitch-pines  and  dwarfish  junipers.  For  a 
century  past  the  woods  have  been  cleared  mostly  from  the 
alluvial  tracts ;  and  the  oaks,  the  hickories,  the  chestnuts, 
and  other  hard-wood  trees,  the  primitive  occupants  of  the 
rich  and  deep  soils,  have  been  succeeded  in  great  measure 
by  trees  of  softer  wood,  that  originally  grew  on  inferior 
land.  The  wooded  aspect  of  the  country  cannot  any 
longer  be  considered,  as  formerly,  a  good  geological  chart, 
except  in  some  parts  of  Maine  and  the  adjoining  British 
Provinces. 

One  of  the  conditions  most  remarkable  in  a  primitive 
forest  is  the  universal  dampness  of  the  ground.  The 
second  growth  of  timber,  especially  if  the  surface  were 
entirely  cleared,  stands  upon  a  drier  foundation.  This 
greater  dryness  is  caused  by  the  absence  of  those  vast 
accumulations  of  vegetable  debris  that  rested  on  the 
ground  before  it  was  disturbed.  A  greater  evaporation 
also  takes  place  under  the  second  growth,  because  the 
trees  are  of  inferior  size  and  stand  more  widely  apart. 
Another  character  of  a  primitive  forest  is  the  crowded 
assemblage  of  trees  and  their  undergrowth,  causing  great 
difficulty  in  traversing  it.  Innumerable  straggling  vines, 
many  of  them  covered  with  thorns,  like  the  green-brier, 
intercept  our  way.  Immense  trunks  of  trees,  prostrated 
by  hurricanes,  lie  in  our  path,  and  beds  of  moss  of  ex- 
treme thickness  cover  a  great  part  of  the  surface,  satu^ 
rated  with  moisture.  The  trees  are  also  covered  with 
mosses,  generated  by  the  shade  and  dampness ;  and  woody 


6  THE  PRIMITIVE  FOBEST. 

vines,  like  the  climbing  fern,  the  poison  ivy,  and  the  am- 
pelopsis,  fastened  upon  their  trunks  and  trailing  from 
their  branches,  make  the  wood  in  many  pkces  like  the 
interior  of  a  grotto.  Above  all,  the  traveller  would  notice 
the  absence  of  those  pleasant  wood-paths  that  intersect 
all  our  familiar  woods,  and  would  find  his  way  only  by 
observing  those  natural  appearances  that  serve  as  a  com- 
pass to  the  Indian  and  the  forester. 

In  primitive  woods  there  is  but  a  small  proportion  of 
perfectly  formed  trees ;  and  these  occur  only  in  such 
pkces  as  permit  some  individuals  to  stand  in  an  isolated 
position,  and  spread  out  their  arms  to  their  full  capacity. 
"When  rambling  in  a  wood  we  take  note  of  several  condi- 
tions which  are  favorable  to  this  full  expansion  of  their 
forms.  On  the  borders  of  a  lake,  a  prairie,  or  an  open 
moor,  or  of  an  extensive  quarry  that  projects  above  the 
soil,  the  trees  will  extend  their  branches  into  the  open- 
ing ;  but  as  they  are  crowded  on  their  inner  side,  they 
are  only  half  developed.  This  expansion,  however,  is  on 
the  side  that  is  exposed  to  view ;  hence  the  incompara- 
ble beauty  of  a  wood  on  the  borders  of  a  lake  or  pond, 
on  the  banks  of  a  river  as  viewed  from  the  water,  and 
on  the  circumference  of  a  densely  wooded  islet. 

Fissures  and  cavities  are  frequent  in  large  rocks  not 
covered  with  soil,  allowing  solitary  trees  which  have 
taken  root  in  them  to  acquire  their  full  proportions.  In 
such  places,  and  on  eminences  that  rise  suddenly  above 
the  forest  level,  with  precipitous  sides,  overtopping  the 
surrounding  woods,  we  find  individual  trees  possessing  the 
character  of  standards^  like  those  we  see  by  roadsides  and 
in  open  fields.  But  perfectly  formed  trees  can  only  be 
produced  in  openings  and  on  isolated  elevations  such  as 
I  have  described ;  and  it  is  evident  that  these  favorable 
circumstances  must  be  rare.  The  trees  in  a  forest  are  like 
those  human  beings  who  from  their  infancy  have  been 


THE  PEIMITIVE  FOREST.  7 

confined  in  the  workshops  of  a  crowded  manufacturing 
town,  and  who  become  closely  assimilated  and  lose  those 
marks  of  individual  character  "by  which  they  would  be 
distinguished  if  they  had  been  reared  in  a  state  of  free- 
dom and  in  the  open  country. 

The  primitive  forest,  in  spite  of  its  dampness,  has  al- 
ways been  subject  to  fires  in  dry  seasons,  which  have 
sometimes  extended  over  immense  tracts  of  country. 
These  fires  were  the  dread  of  the  early  settlers,  and 
countless  lives  have  been  destroyed  by  their  flames 
often  overwhelming  entire  villages.  At  the  present  time 
the  causes  of  fire  in  the  woods  are  very  numerous; 
but  before  they  were  exposed  to  artificial  sources  of  igni- 
tion it  may  have  arisen  from  spontaneous  combustion, 
caused  by  large  accumulations  of  fermenting  substances, 
or  from  lightning,  or  from  the  accidental  friction  of  the 
trunks  of  half-prostrated  trees  crossing  each  other,  and 
moved  by  a  high  wind.  The  forests  in  every  part  of  the 
world  have  been  subject  to  conflagrations;  and  there 
seems  to  be  no  other  means  that  could  be  used  by  nature 
for  removing  old  and  worn-out  forests,  which  contain 
more  combustible  materials  than  any  young  woods.  The 
burned  tracts  in  America  are  called  barrens  by  the  in- 
habitants ;  and  as  the  vegetation  on  the  surface  is  often 
entirely  destroyed,  the  spontaneous  renewal  of  it  would 
display  the  gradual  method  of  nature  in  restoring  the 
forest.  The  successions  of  plants,  from  the  beautiful  crim- 
son fireweed,  through  all  the  gradations  of  tender  herbs, 
prickly  bushes,  and  brambles,  to  shrubs  and  trees  of  in- 
ferior stature,  until  all,  if  the  soil  be  deep  and  fertile,  are 
supplanted  by  oaks,  chestnuts,  hickories,  and  other  hard- 
wood trees,  are  as  regular  and  determinable  as  the  courses 
of  the  planets  or  the  orders  of  the  seasons. 


THE   ASH. 

IT  is  interesting  to  note  the  changes  that  take  place 
from  one  season  to  another  in  the  comparative  beauty 
of  certain  trees.  The  Ash,  for  example,  during  the  early 
part  of  October,  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  trees  of  the 
forest,  exceeded  only  by  the  maple  in  variety  of  tinting. 
In  summer,  too,  but  few  trees  surpass  it  in  quality  of 
foliage,  disposed  in  flowing  irregular  masses,  light  and 
airy,  but  not  thin,  though  allowing  the  branches  to  be 
traced  through  it,  even  to  their  extremities.  It  has  a 
well-rounded  head,  neither  so  regular  as  to  be  formal,  nor 
so  broken  as  to  detract  from  its  peculiar  grace.  When 
standing  with  other  trees  in  midsummer,  in  the  border 
of  a  wood,  or  mingled  with  the  standards  by  the  roadside, 
the  Ash  would  be  sure  to  attract  admiration.  But  no 
sooner  have  the  leaves  fallen  from  its  branches  than  it 
takes  rank  below  almost  all  other  trees,  presenting  a  stiff, 
blunt,  and  awkward  spray,  and  an  entire  want  of  that 
elegance  it  affects  at  other  seasons. 

The  Ash  is  a  favorite  in  Europe,  though  deficient  there 
in  autumnal  tints.  It  is  a  tree  of  the  first  magnitude, 
and  has  been  styled  in  classical  poetry  the  Venus  of  the 
forest,  from  the  general  beauty  of  its  proportions  and 
flowing  robes.  The  English,  however,  complain  of  the 
Ash,  on  account  of  its  tardy  leafing  in  the  spring  and  its 
premature  denudation  in  the  autumn.  "Its  leaf,"  says 
Gilpin,  "is  much  tenderer  than  that  of  the  oak,  and 
sooner  receives  impression  from  the  winds  and  frost.  In- 
stead of  contributing  its  tint,  therefore,  in  the  wane  of 


THE  ASH.  9 

the  year,  among  the  many  colored  offspring  of  the  woods, 
it  shrinks  from  the  blast,  drops  its  leaf,  and  in  each  scene 
where  it  predominates  leaves  wide  blanks  of  desolate 
boughs  amid  foliage  yet  fresh  and  verdant.  Before  its  de- 
cay we  sometimes  see  its  leaf  tinged  with  a  fine  yellow, 
well  contrasted  with  the  neighboring  greens.  But  this 
is  one  of  nature's  casual  beauties.  Much  oftener  its  leaf 
decays  in  a  dark,  muddy,  unpleasing  tint." 

The  Ash  is  remarkable  for  a  certain  trimness  and  regu- 
larity of  proportion,  and  it  seldom  displays  any  of  those 
breaks  so  conspicuous  in  the  outlines  of  the  hickory, 
which  in  many  points  it  resembles.  The  trunk  rises  to 
more  than  an  average  height  before  it  is  subdivided  ;  but 
we  do  not  see  the  central  shaft  above  this  subdivision,  as 
in  the  poplar  and  the  fir.  Lateral  branches  seldom 
shoot  from  the  trunk,  save,  as  I  have  sometimes  observed, 
a  sort  of  bushy  growth,  surrounding  it  a  little  below  the 
angles  made  by  the  lower  branches.  It  is  called  in  Eu- 
rope "the  painters'  tree."  But  George  Barnard,  allud- 
ing to  this  fact,  remarks :  "  Unlike  the  oak,  the  Ash  does 
not  increase  in  picturesqueness  with  old  age.  The  foliage 
becomes  rare  and  meagre,  and  its  branches,  instead  of  hang- 
ing loosely,  often  start  away  in  disagreeable  forms." 

North  America  contains  a  greater  number  of  species  of 
the  genus  Fraxinus  than  any  other  part  of  the  globe. 
But  three  of  these  only  are  common  in  New  England,  — 
the  white,  the  red,  and  the  black  Ash.  The  first  is  the 
most  frequent  both  in  the  forest  and  by  the  roadsides,  the 
most  beautiful,  and  the  most  valuable  for  its  timber.  All 
the  species  have  pinnate  and  opposite  leaves,  and  oppo- 
site branches  in  all  the  recent  growth  ;  but  as  the  tree  in- 
creases in  size,  one  of  the  two  invariably  becomes  abortive, 
so  that  we  perceive  this  opposite  character  only  in  the 
spray.  The  leaflets  are  mostly  in  sevens,  not  so  large 
nor  so  unequal  as  in  the  similar  foliage  of  the  hickory, 
i* 


10  THE   ASH. 

The  white  and  the  red  Ash  have  so  nearly  the  same 
external  characters,  that  it  requires  some  study  to  dis- 
tinguish them.  They  do  not  differ  in  their  ramification, 
nor  in  their  autumnal  hues.  The  black  Ash  may  be 
readily  identified  by  the  leaves,  which  are  sessile,  and 
like  those  of  the  elder ;  also  by  the  dark  bluish  color  of 
the  buds  and  newly  formed  branches,  and  the  slenderness 
of  its  proportions.  It  seldom  attains  a  great  height  or 
size,  and  is  chiefly  confined  to  swamps  and  muddy  soils. 
The  wood  of  this  species  is  remarkable  for  strength  and 
elasticity.  The  remarks  of  George  Barnard  respecting 
the  localities  of  the  Ash  in  Europe  will  apply  to  the 
American  species  :  "  Though  seen  everywhere,  its  favorite 
haunt  is  the  mountain  stream,  where  its  branches  hang 
gracefully  over  the  water,  adding  much  beauty  to  the 
scene.  It  is  to  be  met  with  in  every  romantic  glen  and 
glade,  now  clinging  with  half-covered  roots  to  a  steep, 
overhanging  cliff,  and  breaking  with  its  light,  elegant 
foliage  the  otherwise  too  abrupt  line,  or  with  its  soft 
warm  green  relieving  the  monotonous  coloring  of  the 
rocks  or  the  sombre  gray  of  some  old  ruin." 

There  are  some  remarkable  superstitions  and  tradition- 
ary notions  connected  with  the  Ash-tree.  The  idea  that 
it  is  offensive,  and  even  fatal,  to  serpents,  is  not  of  modern 
origin,  though  not  a  rustic  laborer  can  be  found  who 
would  not  consider  an  Ash-tree  planted  before  his  house 
as  a  charm  against  their  intrusion.  According  to  Pliny, 
if  a  serpent  be  surrounded  on  one  side  by  fire  and  on  the 
other  by  a  barricade  of  the  leaves  and  branches  of  the 
Ash-tree,  he  will  escape  through  the  fire,  rather  than 
through  its  fatal  boughs.  It  is  related  in  the  Edda  that 
man  was  first  created  from  the  wood  of  this  tree,  and  it  is 
not  improbable  that  this  superstition  has  some  connection 
with  the  fable  of  Adam  and  Eve,  and  through  this  with 
the  supposed  antipathy  of  the  serpent  for  the  Ash-tree. 


THE  ASH.  11 

There  is  a  saying  in  Great  Britain,  that,  if  the  Ash  puts 
forth  its  leaves  before  the  oak,  the  following  summer  will 
be  wet ;  but  if  the  leafing  of  the  oak  precedes  that  of  the 
Ash,  it  will  be  dry.  I  am  not  aware  that  any  such  maxim 
has  obtained  credence  in  the  United  States. 


ANIMALS   OF  THE  PEIMITIVE  FOKEST. 

EUROPEAN  travellers  in  this  country  frequently  al- 
lude to  the  American  forest  as  remarkable  for  its  soli- 
tude and  deficiency  of  animal  life.  Captain  Hardy 
remarks  that  a  foreigner  is  struck  with  surprise,  when 
rambling  through  the  bush,  at  the  scarcity  of  birds,  rab- 
bits, and  hares,  and  is  astonished  when  in  the  deepest 
recesses  of  the  wild  country  he  sees  but  little  increase  of 
their  numbers.  When  paddling  his  canoe  through  lake 
and  river,  he  will  startle  but  few  pairs  of  exceedingly 
timid  waterfowl  where  in  Europe  they  swarm  in  multi- 
tudes. This  scarcity  of  animals,  I  would  remark,  is  not 
peculiar  to  the  American  wilderness.  The  same  fact  has 
been  observed  in  extensive  forests  both  in  Europe  and 
Asia ;  and  in  proportion  as  the  traveller  penetrates  into 
their  interiors  he  finds  a  smaller  number  of  animals  of 
almost  every  species.  Birds,  insects,  and  quadrupeds 
will  multiply,  like  human  beings,  in  a  certain  ratio  with 
the  progress  of  agriculture,  so  long  as  there  remains  a 
sufficiency  of  wild  wood  to  afford  them  a  refuge  and  a 
home.  They  use  the  forest  chiefly  for  shelter,  and  the 
open  grounds  for  forage ;  the  woods  are  their  house,  the 
meadows  their  farm. 

I  had  an  opportunity  for  observing  these  facts  very 
early  in  life,  when  making  a  pedestrian  tour  through  sev- 
eral of  the  States.  I  commenced  my  journey  in  autumn, 
and  being  alone,  I  was  led  to  take  note  of  many  things 
which,  had  any  one  accompanied  me,  would  have  escaped 
my  observation.  After  passing  a  few  weeks  of  the  winter 


ANIMALS  OF  THE  PRIMITIVE  FOREST.        13 

in  Nashville,  I  directed  my  course  through  Tennessee  and 
Virginia,  and  was  often  led  through  extensive  ranges  of 
forest.  I  never  saw  birds  in  any  part  of  the  United 
States  so  numerous  as  in  the  woods  adjoining  the  city  of 
Nashville,  which  was  surrounded  with  immense  corn- 
fields and  cotton  plantations.  But  while  walking  through 
the  country  I  could  not  help  observing  the  scarcity  of 
birds  and  small  quadrupeds  in  the  woods  whenever  I  was 
at  a  long  distance  from  any  village  or  habitation.  Some- 
times night  would  draw  near  before  I  had  reached  a  ham- 
let or  farm-house,  where  I  might  take  lodging.  On  such 
occasions  the  silence  of  the  woods  increased  my  anxiety, 
which  was  immediately  relieved  upon  hearing  the  cardi- 
nal or  the  mocking-bird,  whose  cheerful  notes  always  in- 
dicated my  approach  to  cultivated  fields  and  farms. 

That  this  scarcity  of  animal  life  is  not  peculiar  to  the 
American  forest  we  have  the  testimony  of  St.  Pierre,  who 
says  of  the  singing  birds  :  "  It  is  very  remarkable  that  all 
over  the  globe  they  discover  an  instinct  which  attracts 
them  to  the  habitations  of  man.  If  there  be  but  a  single 
hut  in  the  forest,  all  the  singing  birds  of  the  vicinity 
come  and  settle  round  it.  Nay,  they  are  not  to  be  found 
except  in  places  which  are  inhabited.  I  have  travelled 
more  than  six  hundred  leagues  through  the  forests  of 
Eussia,  but  never  met  with  small  birds  except  in  the 
neighborhood  of  villages.  On  making  the  tour  of  fortified 
places  in  Eussian  Finland  with  the  general  officers  of  the 
corps  of  engineers  with  which  I  served,  we  travelled 
sometimes  at  the  rate  of  twenty  leagues  a  day  without 
seeing  on  the  road  either  village  or  bird.  But  when  we 
perceived  the  sparrows  fluttering  about,  we  concluded  we 
must  be  near  some  inhabited  place.  In  this  indication 
we  were  never  once  deceived." 

It  may  be  remarked,  however,  that  birds  and  quadru- 
peds do  not  seek  the  company  of  man  when  they  con- 


14  ANIMALS   OF  THE  PRIMITIVE  FOREST. 

gregate  near  his  habitations.  They  are  attracted  by  the 
increased  amount  of  all  their  means  of  subsistence  that  fol- 
lows the  cultivation  of  the  land.  The  granivorous  birds, 
no  less  than  the  insect-feeders,  are  benefited  by  the  exten- 
sion of  agriculture.  Even  if  no  cereal  grains  were  raised, 
the  cultivated  fields  would  supply  them,  in  the  product  of 
weeds  'alone,  more  sustenance  than  a  hundred  times  the 
same  area  in  forest.  Before  there  were  any  settlements 
of  white  men  in  this  country,  birds  and  small  quadrupeds 
must  have  congregated  chiefly  about  the  wooded  borders 
of  prairies,  on  the  banks  of  rivers,  in  fens  and  cranberry 
meadows,  and  around  the  villages  of  the  red  man.  Their 
numbers  over  the  whole  continent  were  probably  much 
smaller  than  at  the  present  time,  notwithstanding  the 
merciless  destruction  of  them  by  gunners  and  trappers. 

There  are  but  few  tribes  of  animals  that  may  be  sup- 
posed to  thrive  only  in  the  wild  forest ;  and  even  these, 
if  unmolested  by  man,  would  always  find  a  better  sub- 
sistence in  a  half-cultivated  country  abounding  in  woods 
of  sufficient  extent  to  afford  them  shelter  and  a  nursery 
for  their  young,  than  in  a  continuous  wilderness.  Beasts 
of  prey,  however,  are  destroyed  by  man  in  the  vicinity  of 
all  his  settlements,  to  protect  himself  and  his  property 
from  their  attacks,  and  game-birds  and  animals  of  the 
chase  are  recklessly  hunted  both  for  profit  and  amuse- 
ment. In  Europe  the  clearing  of  the  original  forest  was 
so. gradual  that  the  wild  animals  multiplied  more  rapidly 
with  the  progress  of  agriculture.  Civilization  advanced 
so  slowly,  and  the  arts  made  such  tardy  and  gradual  pro- 
gress, that  all  species  enjoyed  considerable  immunity 
from  man.  The  game-birds  and  animals  of  the  chase 
were  not  only  preserved  in  forests  attached  to  princely 
estates,  but  they  were  also  protected  by  game-laws  at 
a  time  when  such  laws  were  less  needful  because  so  few 
of  the  peasantry  were  accustomed  to  the  use  of  the  gun. 


ANIMALS  OF  THE  PRIMITIVE  FOREST.  15 

While  the  royal  forests  yielded  these  creatures  a  shelter 
and  abode,  the  cultivated  lands  near  their  bounds  afforded 
them  subsistence ;  and  they  must  have  multiplied  more 
rapidly  in  proportion  to  the  increase  of  human  population 
than  in  America  after  its  settlement,  where  very  different 
circumstances  and  events  were  witnessed. 

America  was  colonized  and  occupied  by  civilized  people, 
and  the  forests  were  swept  away  with  a  rapidity  unpre- 
cedented in  the  history  of  man.  Every  pioneer  was  a 
hunter  provided  with  guns  and  ammunition  ;  every  male 
member  of  his  family  over  seven  years  of  age  was  a  gun- 
ner and  a  trapper.  The  sparse  inhabitants  of  the  forest, 
which  if  unmolested,  as  in  the  early  period  of  European 
civilization,  would  have  multiplied  in  proportion  to  their 
increased  means  of  subsistence,  have  been,  on  the  con- 
trary, shot  by  the  gunner,  insnared  by  the  trapper,  and 
wantonly  destroyed  by  boys  for  amusement,  until  some 
species  have  been  nearly  exterminated.  Instead  of  in- 
creasing in  a  ratio  with  the  supplies  of  their  natural  food, 
many  tribes  of  them  are  now  more  scarce  than  they  were 
in  the  primitive  forest.  The  small  birds  alone,  whose 
prolific  habits  and  diminutive  size  were  their  protection, 
have  greatly  multiplied. 

But  even  if  birds  and  quadrupeds  were  unmolested  by 
man,  there  are  some  tribes  that  would  prefer  to  reside  in 
the  deep  wood,  while  others  would  fix  their  abode  in  or- 
chards and  gardens.  The  wild  pigeon  has  not  been  favored 
in  any  respect  by  the  clearing  of  the  forest.  The  food  of 
this  species  is  abundantly  supplied  in  the  wilds  of  na- 
ture in  the  product  of  beechen  woods,  hazel  copses, 
groves  of  the  chinquapin  oak,  and  of  the  shores,  of  lakes 
and  arms  of  the  sea  covered  with  Canada  rice  and 
the  maritime  pea-vine.  Their  immense  powers  of  flight 
enable  them  to  transport  themselves  to  new  feeding- 
grounds  after  any  present  stock  is  exhausted,  and  to  wing 


16        ANIMALS  OF  THE  PRIMITIVE  FOREST. 

their  way  over  hundreds  of  miles  between  their  different 
repasts.  This  cannot  be  said  of  the  grouse,  the  turkey, 
and  the  partridge,  whose  feeble  powers  of  flight  confine 
them  to  a  narrow  extent  of  territory ;  and  these  birds 
must  have  been  frequently  robbed  of  their  farinaceous 
stores  by  flocks  of  wild  pigeons  during  their  itinerant 
foraging. 

There  are  many  species  of  birds  which  we  associate 
with  the  wild- wood  because  they  breed  and  find  shelter 
there,  but  if  we  watched  their  habits  we  should  learn 
that  even  these  solitary  birds  make  the  cultivated  grounds 
their  principal  feeding-places.  Such  are  the  quail,  the 
partridge,  and  very  many  of  our  game-birds.  The  quail 
and  the  partridge  are  omnivorous,  but,  like  our  common 
poultry,  are  more  eager  to  seize  a  grub  or  an  insect  than 
a  grain  of  corn.  A  potato-field  is  hardly  less  valuable 
to  a  flock  of  quails  than  a  field  of  corn,  and  affords  more 
sustenance  to  the  snipe  and  the  woodcock  than  any 
other  grounds.  But  these  birds,  as  well  as  others,  have 
diminished  as  those  natural  advantages  have  increased 
that  should  promote  their  multiplication. 

Even  our  sylvias  and  thrushes,  the  most  timid  of  all 
the  winged  tribe,  birds  hardly  ever  seen  except  in  lonely 
woods,  multiply  with  the  clearing  of  the  country  and 
the  increased  abundance  of  their  insect  food.  The  vesper 
thrushes,  that  shun  the  presence  of  man,  and  will  become 
silent  in  their  musical  evening  if  the  rustling  of  the 
bushes  indicates  the  approach  of  a  human  footstep,  are 
more  numerous  in  the  woods  of  Cambridge  than  in  any 
other  part  of  the  country.  These  are  chiefly  of  maple, 
filled  with  underbrush,  and  afford  the  birds  a  harbor  and 
a  shelter,  while  the  adjoining  fields,  in  a  state  of  the  high- 
est tillage,  supply  them  plentifully  with  their  natural 
food,  consisting  of  worms  and  the  larvae  of  insects.  The 
timid  habits  of  these  solitary  birds  are  their  chief  pro- 


ANIMALS   OF  THE  PEIMITIVE  FOREST.  17 

tection.  They  will  not  expose  themselves  to  observation, 
and  on  the  approach  of  a  human  being  they  flee  to  the 
woods,  where  they  are  entirely  concealed  from  the  youths 
who  destroy  all  sorts  of  small  game.  Birds  of  this 
species  continue  to  grow  more  numerous,  while  the  red 
thrush  and  the  catbird  are  constantly  diminishing  in 
numbers  because  they  breed  outside  of  the  wood,  where 
they  are  more  easily  discovered. 

American  hares  multiply  as  the  forest  is  cleared,  in 
spite  of  the  unremitting  persecution  they  suffer.  The 
clover-fields  adjoining  the  wood  yield  them  a  forage 
greatly  superior  to  the  scanty  browsing  of  the  shrubs  and 
herbaceous  plants  of  the  forest.  Deer  would  be  favored 
by  the  same  conditions,  if  they  were  not  driven  by  the 
hunter  into  the  most  savage  regions.  Attempts  are  con- 
stantly made  by  our  different  State  governments  to  pro- 
tect these  valuable  birds  and  animals ;  but  their  acts 
must  always  be  unavailing.  The  only  means  that  will 
save  them  from  extermination  must  be  afforded  by  the 
universal  establishment  of  forest  conservatories,  set  apart 
exclusively  for  their  protection. 


THE  AZALEA,  OK  SWAMP  HONEYSUCKLE. 

THE  Azaleas  are  favorite  flowering  shrubs  in  florists' 
collections  at  the  present  day,  and  are  remarkable  for 
the  delicacy  of  their  flowers  and  the  purity  of  their 
colors.  In  New  England  are  only  two  species,  —  the 
Swamp  Honeysuckle  and  the  colored  Azalea,  a  prostrate 
shrub  bearing  pink  flowers.  It  cannot  be  doubted  that 
the  interest  attached  to  a  flower  is  greatly  increased  by 
finding  it  in  the  wild- wood.  I  have  frequently  observed 
this  effect  and  the  opposite  upon  suddenly  meeting  a 
garden  flower  in  a  field  or  wood-path,  or  a  wild  flower  in 
the  garden.  When  the  Swamp  Honeysuckle  is  seen  grow- 
ing with  the  fairer  Azaleas  of  the  florists  in  cultivated 
grounds,  its  inferiority  is  most  painfully  apparent ;  but 
when  I  encounter  it  in  some  green  solitary  dell  in  the 
forest,  bending  over  the  still  waters,  where  all  the  scenes 
remind  me  only  of  nature,  I  am  affected  with  more 
pleasure  than  by  a  display  of  the  more  beautiful  species 
in  a  garden  or  greenhouse. 

The  Swamp  Honeysuckle  is  one  of  the  most  interesting 
of  the  New  England  flowering  shrubs,  and  a  very  well 
known  species.  It  comes  into  flower  about  the  first  of 
July,  and  is  recognized  by  its  fragrance,  —  resembling  that 
of  the  marvel  of  Peru,  —  by  the  similarity  of  its  flowers  to 
those  of  the  woodbine,  and  their  glutinous  surface.  It 
is  found  only  in  wet  places,  and  delights  in  suspending 
its  flowers  over  a  gently  flowing  stream,  the  brink  of  a 
pool,  or  the  margin  of  a  pond,  blending  its  odors  with 
those  of  water-lilies,  and  borrowing  a  charm  from  the  re- 


THE  CANADIAN  RHODORA.  19 

flection  of  its  own  beauty  on  the  surface  of  the  still 
water.  Though  it  bears  no  fruit,  every  rambler  in  the 
woods  is  grateful  for  the  perfume  it  sheds  around  him 
while  wandering  in  quest  of  its  flowers.  These  are  ex- 
tremely delicate  in  texture  and  closely  resemble  those  of 
the  common  white  honeysuckle  or  woodbine  of  our 
gardens,  not  only  in  their  general  shape,  but  also  in  the 
appearance  of  several  wilted  flowers  in  the  same  cluster 
with  perfect  flowers  and  buds.  A  pulpy  excrescence  is 
often  attached  to  this  plant,  which  is  familiarly  known 
by  the  name  of  "  swamp  apple."  It  is  slightly  acidulous 
and  sweet,  and,  though  nearly  insipid,  is  not  disagreeable 
in  flavor. 

A  more  beautiful  but  less  common  species,  with  pale 
crimson  flowers,  is  found  in  certain  localities,  that  tends 
to  multiply  into  varieties.  It  is  a  smaller  shrub  than 
the  white  Azalea,  and  does  not  show  the  same  prefer- 
ence for  wet  places.  All  the  species  are  more  remark- 
able for  their  flowers  than  their  foliage,  which  is  of  a 
pale  glaucous  green  and  small  in  quantity. 


THE  CANADIAN  RHODORA. 

IN  the  latter  part  of  May,  when  the  early  spring 
flowers  are  just  beginning  to  fade,  and  when  the  leaves 
of  the  forest  trees  are  sufficiently  expanded  to  dis- 
play all  the  tints  attending  the  infancy  of  their  growth, 
no  plant  attracts  more  admiration  than  the  Canadian 
Ehodora.  The  flowers,  of  a  purple  crimson,  are  in  um- 
bels on  the  ends  of  the  branches,  appearing  before  the 
leaves.  The  corolla,  consisting  of  long  narrow  petals, 
very  deeply  cleft,  the  stamens  on  slender  hairy  fila- 


20  THE  CANADIAN  EHODOEA. 

ments,  and  the  projecting  style,  resemble  tufts  of  colored 
silken  fringe.  The  Ehodora  is  from  two  to  six  feet 
in  height,  and  is  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  orna- 
ments of  wet,  bushy  pastures  in  this  part  of  the  country. 
It  is  the  last  in  the  train  of  the  delicate  flowers  of 
spring,  and  by  its  glowing  hues  indicates  the  coming  of 
a  brighter  vegetation.  When  other  shrubs  of  different 
species  are  only  half  covered  with  foliage,  the  Ehodora 
spreads  out  its  flowers  upon  the  surface  of  the  variegated 
ground,  in  plats  and  clumps  of  irregular  sizes,  and  sheds 
a  checkered  glow  of  crimson  over  whole  acres  of  moor. 
The  poets  have  said  but  little  of  this  flower  because  it 
wants  individuality.  We  look  upon  the  blossoms  of  the 
Ehodora  as  we  look  upon  the  crimsoned  clouds,  admiring 
their  general  glow,  not  the  cast  of  single  flowers.  But 
there  is  something  very  poetical  in  the  rosy  wreaths  it 
affixes  to  the  brows  of  Nature,  still  pallid  with  the  long 
confinement  of  winter. 


THE  PASTOEAL  AND  ROMANTIC. 

IT  is  usual  to  refer  the  sensations  produced  by  the  dif- 
ferent objects  of  nature  to  some  one  of  the  general 
heads  of  the  sublime,  the  beautiful,  or  the  picturesque. 
All  these  terms  are  exceedingly  vague,  expressing, 
without  clearly  distinguishing,  a  great  diversity  of  feel- 
ings and  sentiments.  By  separating  the  ideas  con- 
veyed by  them  into  more  specific  divisions,  though  we  do 
not  thereby  escape  a  certain  vagueness  of  signification  that 
attaches  to  aH  metaphysical  terms,  we  render  them  more 
distinct  and  intelligible.  The  word  "  picturesque  "  will 
not  express  the  character  of  all  those  objects  which  could 
not  be  correctly  described  either  as  beautiful  or  sublime. 
There  are  descriptions  of  scenery  that  may  properly  be 
denominated  pastoral  and  romantic,  others  rude,  dreary, 
and  desolate.  Eomantic  scenery  is  usually  described  as 
that  which  is  naturally  fitted  for  adventure.  Such  is  all 
abrupt  and  mountainous  country,  interspersed  with  woods 
and  ravines  favorable  to  escapes  from  danger  and  adapted 
to  concealment. 

In  a  painting  or  romance  the  most  interesting  person  is 
the  one  who  innocently  suffers  the  greatest  misfortunes, 
and  individuals  of  high  station  and  seeming  prosperity 
can  become  objects  of  romantic  interest  only  by  exposure 
to  some  threatening  danger,  or  by  actual  misfortune.  A 
painting  that  should  represent  a  lady  in  her  parlor,  sur- 
rounded by  the  luxuries  and  refinements  of  fashionable 
life,  might  elicit  admiration,  but  could  awaken  no  po- 
etic interest.  We  may  admire  her  beauty,  the  splendor 


22  THE   PASTORAL  AND   KOMANTIC. 

that  surrounds  her,  and  the  skill  of  the  painter  who  de- 
vised the  scene.  But  there  is  no  poetry  in  the  simple 
feeling  of  admiration,  and  what  we  merely  admire  sel- 
dom affects  the  heart.  A  mother  sitting  upon  a  solitary 
shore,  with  a  group  of  young  children  clinging  about  her, 
looking  for  an  approaching  sail,  is  a  scene  that  excites  no 
admiration,  but  keenly  awakens  our  sympathies,  and  is 
poetical  in  the  highest  degree.  From  humble  life,  or 
from  greatness  reduced  to  misfortune,  the  painter  and  the 
poet  must  select  all  those  images  and  incidents  that  will 
deeply  affect  the  soul. 

In  an  old  edition  of  the  "  Lady  of  the  Lake,"  a  poem 
full  of  romantic  scenes,  the  frontispiece  represents  the 
heroine  of  the  story  alone  in  a  skiff,  near  the  shore  of  the 
lake.  The  royal  hunter,  having  been  separated  from  his 
companions,  and  being  in  a  wild  and  lonely  situation,  by 
the  side  of  Loch  Katrine,  sounds  his  bugle.  This  alarms 
the  maiden,  who  quickly,  on  perceiving  the  hunter,  pushes 
her  light  shallop  from  the  shore.  Ellen  was  a  chieftain's 
daughter,  and  being  alone  in  a  skiff,  near  the  margin  of  a 
solitary  lake  in  the  forest,  she  becomes  an  object  of  in- 
tensely romantic  interest ;  and  her  youth  and  her  beauty, 
her  loneliness  and  her  danger,  yield  a  deeply  picturesque 
and  poetical  character  to  the  scene.  Neither  her  beauty 
nor  her  rank  would  so  deeply  affect  us,  if  there  were 
nothing  in  her  situation  to  awaken  our  sympathy  and 
arouse  our  apprehension  of  her  dangers.  But  when  she 
is  seen  with  hasty  oar  in  the  act  of  pushing  her  shallop 
into  deeper  water,  to  avoid  the  stranger  huntsman,  she 
becomes  a  romantic  object  in  proportion  to  her  beauty  and 
her  perils. 

It  is  the  affecting  character  of  written  or  painted  scenes 
of  humble  life  that  awakens  the  interest  which  has  al- 
ways been  felt  in  the  narrative  of  the  "  Deserted  Village," 
—  that  perfect  example  of  the  pastoral  elegy.  Whether 


THE  PASTORAL  AND   ROMANTIC.  23 

it  be  that  we  can  more  easily  sympathize  with  the  poor 
and  humble,  or  that  we  feel  that  there  is  more  happi- 
ness in  a  rustic  cottage,  where  content  resides,  than  in  a 
mansion  where  constant  endeavors  are  made  to  maintain 
a  false  appearance  of  superiority,  it  will  not  be  denied 
that  there  is  a  charm  in  the  pictures  of  humble  life  that 
cannot  be  transferred  to  those  of  the  mansion  or  the  pal- 
ace. I  cannot  perceive  that  envy  enters  into  our  feelings 
on  the  one  hand,  or  benevolence  on  the  other.  The  happy 
tranquillity  that  seems  to  reside  in  the  cottage,  and  the 
disquiet  which  would  surely  attend  us  in  the  opposite 
condition,  make  all  the  difference. 

But  we  must  add  to  a  humble  picture  something  of  a 
pastoral  character  to  yield  it  still  more  effect.  Here  is  a 
neat  but  rude  cottage,  with  two  or  three  smiling  and  ruddy 
children  at  the  door.  It  seems  to  be  the  dwelling,  not  of 
beggars,  but  of  simple  laborers.  A  woodman  is  standing 
near,  in  the  act  of  cutting  a  branch  from  a  tree.  Hard 
by  are  a  few  cows,  some  reposing  near  a  shed,  others 
quietly  feeding  on  an  adjoining  slope.  This  scene  de- 
rives interest  chiefly  from  its  pastoral  suggestions.  It  is 
rendered  picturesque  by  calling  up  images  of  rural  peace 
and  the  happy  life  of  a  humble  tiller  of  the  soil.  It  pos- 
sesses moral  beauty  in  a  high  degree,  because  it  wears  a 
quiet  look  of  contentment,  and  is  associated  with  all  those 
charming  fancies  so  generally  inspired  by  scenes  of  rustic 
simplicity. 

We  proceed  on  our  ramble  until  we  reach  a  little  nook 
or  recess  in  the  wood.  A  high  wall  of  granite,  covered 
with  ferns,  bounds  it  on  two  sides;  a  pleasant  wood 
stands  in  the  rear,  while  in  front  it  overlooks  the  region 
below.  In  the  centre  of  this  recess  is  a  hermitage,  occu- 
pied by  a  venerable  recluse.  The  edifice  and  its  inhab- 
itant, viewed  in  connection  wi^h  the  native  beauties  of  the 
place,  form  a  genuine  scene  of  the  romantic  cast,  height- 


24          THE  PASTORAL  AND  ROMANTIC. 

ened  by  our  ideas  of  the  piety  and  devotion  of  the  hermit ; 
but  it  does  not  awaken  our  sympathies  or  interest  our 
affections  like  a  simple  pastoral  scene.  In  all  these  cases 
it  is  the  imagination  that  lends  the  scene  its  charms.  To 
a  man  of  cold  heart  and  inactive  mind,  nothing  is  pictu- 
resque, nothing  is  poetical,  solemn,  pastoral,  or  romantic. 
Hence  it  is  not  difficult  to  understand  why  a  man  of  cul- 
ture must  have  sources  of  happiness  which  are  entirely 
hidden  from  the  boor  and  the  sensualist. 

It  is  this  rural  sentiment,  this  love  of  shepherd  life 
and  its  accompaniments,  that  causes  our  interest  in  pas- 
toral poetry,  which  has  little  else  in  general  to  recommend 
it.  Our  love  of  shepherd  life,  which  is  almost  purely 
ideal  and  practically  delusive,  is  closely  allied  with  our 
love  of  nature  and  simplicity.  "We  associate  the  employ- 
ments of  a  shepherd  with  all  the  pleasant  imagery  of 
freedom  and  leisure,  with  shady  groves  and  the  sylvan 
muse,  with  the  rustic  pipe  and  all  the  various  scenes  de- 
scribed in  the  idyl  and  the  eclogue.  A  shepherd's  life  is 
probably  very  tiresome  to  the  rural  swain  who  is  obliged 
to  follow  it,  but  no  less  interesting  to  the  spectator,  whose 
imagination  calls  up  in  connection  with  it  gentle  flocks, 
murmuring  bees,  flowery  meads,  and  the  sweet  Menalian 
strains  of  the  classical  eclogue.  But  the  ideas  of  happi- 
ness which  are  associated  with  rural  life  in  general  are 
far  from  delusive ;  and  its  occupations  are  usually  attend- 
ed with  more  personal  freedom  than  the  pursuits  either 
of  trade  or  ambition. 

Though  I  have  joined  together,  in  this  essay,  the  pas- 
toral and  the  romantic,  they  are  in  many  respects  oppo- 
site sentiments, — the  one  relating  to  action  and  adventure, 
the  other  to  quiet  and  seclusion.  The  pastoral  has  by 
custom  acquired  a  more  extended  meaning  than  its  origi- 
nal expression  of  shepherd  life,  and  includes  the  feel- 
ing with  which  we  regard  almost  all  quiet  occupations 


THE  PASTORAL  AND  ROMANTIC.          25 

in  the  country.  The  association  of  the  woods  and  fields 
with  the  rural  deities  of  the  ancients  is  a  part  of  our 
modern  sentiment  of  the  pastoral  and  romantic.  Keats 
has  founded  his  poem  of  "  Endymion  "  on  this  sentiment, 
which  greatly  magnifies  the  agreeable  impressions  we  de- 
rive from  natural  objects.  In  the  mind  of  Keats  all 
nature  was  a  paradise  of  rural  deities  and  beautiful  objects 
of  human  love. 

We  look  upon  nature  with  more  depth  of  affection 
when  we  have  learned  to  people  all  the  groves,  hills,  and 
fountains  with  their  appropriate  deities.  The  stream  that 
winds  through  the  valley  is  the  more  beautiful  when  it 
proceeds  as  it  were  from  the  urn  of  the  naiad ;  and  the 
sounds  that  reverberate  from  the  hills  produce  a  more 
animated  sensation  when  we  listen  to  them  as  the  voice 
of  the  solitary  Echo  banished  to  her  shell.  A  constant 
use  of  mythological  figures,  in  our  descriptions  of  nature 
would  be  tiresome  and  commonplace ;  but  the  frugal  and 
ingenious  coloring  of  those  descriptions  with  mythological 
imagery  is  always  agreeable  and  poetical. 


THE    WILLOW. 

THE  Willow  is  of  all  trees  the  most  celebrated  in 
romance  and  romantic  history.  Its  habit  of  growing 
by  the  sides  of  lakes  and  rivers,  and  of  spreading  its 
long  branches  over  wells  in  solitary  pastures,  has  given 
it  a  peculiar  significance  in  poetry  as  the  accompaniment 
of  pastoral  scenes,  and  renders  it  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting objects  in  landscape.  Hence  there  is  hardly  a 
song  of  nature,  a  rustic  lay  of  shepherds,  a  Latin  eclogue, 
or  any  descriptive  poem,  that  does  not  make  frequent 
mention  of  the  Willow.  The  piping  sounds  from  wet 
places  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  the  songs  of  the  earliest 
birds,  and  the  hum  of  bees  when  they  first  go  abroad 
after  their  winter's  rest,  are  all  delightfully  associated 
with  this  tree.  We  breathe  the  perfume  of  its  flowers 
before  the  meadows  are  spangled  with  violets,  and  when 
the  crocus  has  just  appeared  in  the  gardens  ;  and  its  early 
bloom  makes  it  a  conspicuous  object  when  it  comes  forth 
under  an  April  sky,  gleaming  with  a  drapery  of  golden 
verdure  among  the  still  naked  trees  of  the  forest  and 
orchard. 

When  Spring  has  closed  her  delicate  flowers,  and  the 
multitudes  that  crowd  around  the  footsteps  of  May  have 
yielded  their  places  to  the  brighter  host  of  June,  the 
Willow  scatters  the  golden  aments  that  adorned  it, 
and  appears  in  the  deeper  garniture  of  its  own  green 
foliage.  The  hum  of  insects  is  no  longer  heard  among 
the  boughs  in  quest  of  honey,  but  the  notes  of  the  phebe 
and  the  summer  yellow-bird,  that  love  to  nestle  in  their 


THE   WILLOW.  27 

spray,  may  be  heard  from  their  green  shelter  on  all  sum- 
mer noons.  The  fresh  and  peculiar  incense  of  the  peat- 
meadows,  with  their  purple  beds  of  cranberry-vines  and 
wild  strawberries,  the  glistening  of  still  waters,  and  the 
sight  of  little  fishes  that  gambol  in  their  clear  depths,  are 
circumstances  that  accompany  the  Willow,  and  magnify 
our  pleasure  on  beholding  it,  either  in  a  picture  or  real 
landscape.  We  prize  the  Willow  for  its  material  quali- 
ties no  more  than  for  its  poetic  relations ;  for  it  is  not 
only  the  beauty  of  a  tree,  but  the  scenes  with  which  it  is 
allied,  and  the  ideas  and  images  it  awakens  in  the  mind, 
that  make  up  its  attractions. 

The  very  name  of  this  tree  brings  to  mind  at  once  a 
swarm  of  images,  rural,  poetical,  and  romantic.  There  is 
a  softness  in  the  sound  of  Willow  that  accords  with  the 
delicacy  of  its  foliage  and  the  flexibility  of  its  slender 
branches.  The  syllables  of  this  word  must  have  been 
prompted  by  the  mellow  tones  which  are  produced  by 
the  wind  when  gliding  through  its  airy  spray.  Writers 
of  romance  have  always  assigned  the  Willow  to  youthful 
lovers,  as  affording  the  most  appropriate  arbor  for  their 
rustic  vows,  which  would  seem  to  acquire  a  peculiar 
sacredness  when  spoken  under  the  shade  of  the  most 
poetical  of  all  trees. 

The  Willow,  though  tenacious  of  life,  will  not  prosper 
in  dry  places.  Its  presence  is  a  sure  indication  of  water, 
either  on  the  surface  of  the  ground  or  a  little  beneath 
it.  The  grass  is  green  at  all  times  under  this  tree, 
and  the  herds  that  browse  upon  its  foliage  and  young 
branches  find  beneath  them  the  most  grateful  pasture. 
In  the  New  England  States  it  has  long  been  customary 
to  plant  Willows  by  the  wayside,  wherever  the  road 
passes  over  wet  grounds.  Some  of  the  most  delightful 
retreats  of  the  pedestrian  are  found  under  their  shady 
boughs.  When  he  is  panting  with  heat  and  thirst,  the 


28  THE  WILLOW. 

sight  of  their  green  rows  fills  him  with  new  animation, 
as  they  indicate  the  presence  of  water  as  well  as  cooling 
shade.  The  same  comely  rows  are  seen  skirting  the 
pools  and  watercourses  of  our  pastoral  hills  and  arable 
meadows.  They  are  planted  also  by  the  sides  of  streams 
and  canals,  where  they  serve,  by  their  long  and  nu- 
merous roots,  to  consolidate  the  banks,  and  by  their 
leaves  and  branches  afford  shelter  to  cattle.  These  Wil- 
lows are  among  the  fairest  ornaments  of  the  landscape  in 
Massachusetts  just  after  the  elm  and  red  maple  have  put 
forth  their  flowers.  And  so  lively  is  their  appearance, 
with  their  light  green  foliage,  that  when  we  meet  with  a 
group  of  them  in  the  turn  of  a  road  on  a  cloudy  day,  we 
seem  to  be  greeted  with  a  sudden  gleam  of  sunshine. 

The  Willow  is  one  of  the  few  trees  which  have  been 
transplanted  from  Europe  to  our  own  soil  without  being 
either  equalled  or  surpassed  by  some  American  tree  of 
kindred  species.  But  there  is  no  indigenous  Willow  in 
any  part  of  the  American  continent  that  will  bear  com- 
parison in  size  and  in  those  general  qualities  which  we 
admire  in  trees,  either  with  the  Weeping  Willow  or  the 
common  yellow  Willow.  The  latter  is  as  frequent  in 
our  laud  as  any  one  of  our  native  trees,  except  in  the 
forest.  It  attains  a  considerable  height  and  great  dimen- 
sions, seldom  forming  a  single  trunk,  but  sending  upward 
from  the  ground,  or  from  a  very  short  bole,  three  or  four 
diverging  branches,  so  as  to  resemble  an  immense  shrub. 
This  mode  of  growth  is  caused  perhaps  by  our  way  of 
planting  it, —  by  inserting  into  the  ground  cuttings  which 
have  no  leading  shoot.  Indeed,  all  these  Willows  are  pol- 
lards. Not  one  of  the  species  is  found  in  our  forest,  ex- 
cept where  it  has  spread  over  land  that  has  once  been 
cleared  and  cultivated.  In  that  case,  we  find  mixed  with 
the  forest  trees  Willows,  apple-trees,  and  lilacs,  which 
were  planted  there  before  the  tract  was  restored  to  na- 


THE  WILLOW.  29 

ture.  I  have  seen  trees  of  this  species  growing  as  stand- 
ards of  immense  size,  with  their  branches  always  joining 
the  trunk  very  near  the  ground.  On  this  account  little 
rustic  seats  and  arbors  are  more  frequently  erected  in  the 
crotch  of  a  Willow  than  in  that  of  any  other  tree. 

The  most  of  our  indigenous  Willows  are  mere  shrubs. 
Though  there  are  above  thirty  American  species,  but  few 
of  them  rise  to  the  stature  of  trees.  Some  of  them  are 
creeping  plants  and  prostrate  shrubs,  some  are  neat  and 
elegant  trees  in  miniature.  Their  branches  are  also  of 
many  colors,  some  of  a  fine  golden  hue,  spreading  a  sort 
of  illumination  over  the  swamps  where  they  abound ; 
some  are  red;  others  with  foliage  so  dark  as  to  have 
gained  the  name  of  Mourning  Willow.  Some,  like  our 
common  bog  Willow,  are  called  white,  from  their  downy  or 
silken  aments.  One  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the  small 
species  is  the  golden  osier,  or  Basket  Willow.  The  yellow 
twigs  of  this  shrub,  coming  up  from  the  ground  like  grass 
without  subdivisions,  but  densely  from  one  common  root, 
are  very  ornamental  to  low  grounds.  It  would  seem  as 
if  Nature,  who  has  given  but  little  variety  to  the  foliage 
of  this  tree,  had  made  up  for  its  deficiency  by  caus- 
ing the  different  species  to  display  a  charming  variety  in 
their  size.  Thus,  while  the  common  yellow  Willow  equals 
the  oak  in  magnitude,  there  are  many  species  which  are 
miniature  shrubs,  not  larger  than  a  heath  plant.  As  one 
of  the  beautiful  gifts  of  nature,  the  Willow  claims  a  large 
share  of  our  admiration.  Though  not  a  convenient  orna- 
ment of  our  enclosures,  the  absence  of  this  tree  from  the 
banks  of  quiet  streams  and  glassy  waterfalls,  overhanging 
rivers  and  shading  the  brink  of  fountains,  would  be  most 
painfully  felt  by  every  lover  of  nature. 


ROTATION  AND  DISTRIBUTION. 

IT  has  been  observed  by  foresters  that  there  is  a  ten- 
dency in  any  soil  which  has  long  been  occupied  by  a 
certain  kind  of  timber,  to  produce,  after  the  trees  have 
been  felled,  a  very  different  kind,  if  it  be  left  to  its  spon- 
taneous action.  The  laws  affecting  such  rotations  have 
been  very  well  ascertained,  and  a  careful  investigation 
of  the  subject  would  undoubtedly  reveal  many  curious 
facts  not  yet  known.  If  the  stumps  of  the  trees,  consist- 
ing of  oak,  ash,  maple,  and  some  other  deciduous  kinds, 
remain  after  the  wood  is  felled,  they  will  throw  up  suck- 
ers, and  the  succeeding  timber  will  be  an  inferior  growth 
of  the  original  wood.  But  if  the  stumps  and  roots  of  the 
trees  should  be  entirely  removed,  it  would  be  more  diffi- 
cult to  determine  what  would  be  the  character  of  the 
next  spontaneous  growth.  It  would  probably  be  planted 
by  the  kinds  that  prevail  in  the  neighboring  forests,  and 
it  would  depend  on  the  character  of  the  soil  whether  the 
hard  or  soft  wood  trees  would  finally  predominate. 

There  is  an  important  chemical  agency  at  work,  that 
originally  determines  the  distribution  of  forests,  and  after- 
wards their  rotation.  The  hard-wood  trees  require  more 
potash  and  a  deeper  soil  than  the  coniferous  and  soft- 
wood trees.  Hence  they  are  found  chiefly  on  alluvial 
plains  and  the  lower  slopes  of  mountains,  where  the  soil 
is  deep  and  abounds  in  all  valuable  ingredients  for  the 
support  of  vegetation.  Pines  and  firs,  on  the  contrary, 
though  frequently  discovered  of  an  immense  size  on  allu- 
vial soils,  are  generally  crowded  out  of  such  grounds  by 


ROTATION  AND  DISTRIBUTION.  31 

the  superior  vigor  of  the  hard-wood  trees ;  and  they  can 
only  maintain  their  supremacy  on  barren  and  sandy 
levels,  and  the  thin  soils  of  mountain  declivities,  too 
meagre  to  support  the  growth  of  timber  of  superior  kinds. 
But  a  wood  must  stand  a  great  many  years,  several  cen- 
turies perhaps,  after  its  spontaneous  restoration,  before  this 
order  of  nature  could  be  fully  established.  We  must  ob- 
serve the  spontaneous  growth  and  distribution  of  herba- 
ceous plants  in  different  soils  to  ascertain  these  laws, 
which  are  the  same  in  a  field  as  in  a  forest. 

When  any  growth  of  hard  wood  has  been  felled  and 
the  whole  removed  from  the  ground,  the  soil,  having  been 
exhausted  of  its  potash,  cannot  support  a  new  and  vigor- 
ous growth  of  the  same  kind  of  timber.  The  succession 
will  consist  of  a  meagre  growth  of  the  same  species  from 
seeds  already  planted  there;  but  the  white  birch  and 
poplar,  especially  the  large  American  aspen,  usually  pre- 
dominate in  clearings  in  this  part  of  the  country.  When 
a  pine  wood  is  felled,  it  is  succeeded  by  an  inferior  growth 
of  conifers,  and  a  species  of  dwarf  or  scrub  oak.  Seldom, 
indeed,  after  any  kind  of  wood  has  been  cut  down  and  car- 
ried away  from  the  spot,  can  the  exhausted  soil  support 
another  that  is  not  inferior  in  quality  or  species.  Though 
an  oak  wood  may  be  succeeded  by  pines,  a  pine  wood  will 
not  be  succeeded  by  oaks  or  any  other  hard  timber,  un- 
less the  trees  were  burned  and  their  ashes  restored  to  the 
soil.  Hence  we  may  account  for  the  fact  that  poplars, 
white  birches,  and  wild-cherry-trees,  occupy  a  larger  pro- 
portion of  the  ground  that  is  now  covered  with  wood 
than  they  did  a  century  ago,  in  all  parts  of  the  country. 

I  have  already  alluded  to  the  well-known  fact,  that  the 
generic  character  of  the  timber,  in  the  distribution  of  the 
primitive  forest,  in  any  country,  is  determined  in  great 
measure  by  the  geological  character  of  the  soil.  On 
sandy  plains  in  the  primitive  forest,  the  white  birch,  the 


32  ROTATION  AND  DISTRIBUTION. 

poplar,  the  aspen,  and  the  pitch  pine  were  abundant, 
as  they  are  now  on  similar  soils.  The  preference  of  the 
red  maple  for  wet  and  miry  soils  is  well  known ;  while 
hard  maple,  oak,  beech,  and  hickory  do  not  prosper  ex- 
cept in  strong  alluvial  tracts. .  A  heavy  growth  of  hard 
timber  indicates  a  superior  soil ;  pine  indicates  an  inferior 
one,  if  it  has  been  left  to  the  spontaneous  action  of 
nature.  In  the  primitive  forest  we  were  sure  of  finding 
such  relations  of  soil  and  species.  They  are  not  so 
invariable  since  the  operations  of  agriculture  have  inter- 
rupted the  true  method  of  nature. 

When  a  wood  has  been  burned,  the  process  of  renewal, 
when  left  to  nature,  is  much  more  tardy  than  if  it  had 
been  felled,  since  it  can  now  be  restored  only  by  a  regular 
series  of  vegetable  species,  which  must  precede  it,  accord- 
ing to  certain  inevitable  laws.  The  soil,  however,  being 
improved  and  fertilized  by  the  ashes  of  the  burnt  tim- 
ber, is  in  a  chemical  condition  to  support  a  luxuriant  for- 
est as  soon  as  in  the  course  of  nature  it  can  be  planted 
there.  Trees  will  not  immediately  come  up  from  this 
burnt  ground  as  in  a  clearing ;  and  if  they  should  appear, 
they  would  mostly  perish  from  the  want  of  protection. 
In  the  order  of  nature  herbaceous  plants  are  the  first  to 
occupy  the  soil,  and  these  are  followed  by  a  uniform  suc- 
cession of  different  species.  There  is  an  epilobium,  or 
willow  herb,  with  elegant  spikes  of  purple  flowers,  con- 
spicuous in  our  meadows  in  August,  which  is  one  of  the 
earliest  occupants  of  burnt  ground,  hence  called  fireweed 
in  Maine  and  Nova  Scotia.  The  downy  appendage  to  its 
seeds  causes  it  to  be  planted  there  by  the  winds  immedi- 
ately after  the  burning.  The  trillium  appears  also  in 
great  abundance  upon  the  blackened  surface  of  the 
ground  in  all  wet  places.  Plants  like  the  ginseng,  the 
erythronium,  and  the  like,  whose  bulbs  or  tubers  lie 
buried  deep  in  the  mould,  escape  destruction,  and  come  up 


ROTATION  AND   DISTRIBUTION.  33 

anew.  These,  along  with  several  compound  plants  with 
downy  seeds,  and  a  few  ferns  and  equisetums,  are  the 
first  occupants  of  burnt  lands. 

But  the  plants  mentioned  above  have  no  tendency  to 
foster  the  growth  of  young  trees.  They  are,  however, 
succeeded  by  the  thistles  and  thorny  plants,  which  are 
nature's  preparation  of  any  tract,  once  entirely  stripped 
of  vegetation,  as  a  nursery  for  the  seedlings.  All  the 
phenomena  of  nature's  rotation  are  but  the  necessary 
giving  place  of  rapid-growing  and  short-lived  plants  to 
others  which  are  perennial  and  more  capable  of  maintain- 
ing their  ground  after  being  once  planted.  Thorns  and 
thistles  soon  appear  on  burnt  lands,  and  protect  the  young 
trees  as  they  spring  up,  both  from  the  winds  and  the 
browsing  of  animals.  Thus  many  an  oak  has  been  nursed 
in  a  cradle  of  thorns  and  brambles,  and  many  a  lime- 
tree  growing  in  a  bower  of  eglantine  has  been  protected 
by  its  thorns  from  the  browsing  of  the  goat. 

We  very  early  discover  a  variety  of  those  woody  plants 
that  bear  an  edible  fruit,  which  is  eaten  by  birds  and  scat- 
tered by  them  over  the  land,  including  many  species  of 
bramble.  The  fruit-bearing  shrubs  always  precede  the 
fruit-bearing  trees ;  but  the  burnt  land  is  first  occupied 
by  those  kinds  that  bear  a  stone-fruit.  Hence  great  num- 
bers of  cherry-trees  and  wild-plum-trees  are  found  there,  as 
the  natural  successors  of  the  wild  gooseberry  and  bramble- 
bushes.  These  are  soon  mixed  with  poplars,  limes,  and 
other  trees  with  volatile  seeds.  But  oaks,  hickories,  and 
the  nut-bearing  trees  must  wait  to  be  planted  by  squir- 
rels and  field-mice  and  some  species  of  birds.  The  nut- 
bearers,  therefore,  will  be  the  last  to  appear  in  a  burnt 
region,  for  the  little  quadrupeds  that  feed  upon  their 
fruit  will  not  frequent  this  spot  until  it  is  well  covered 
with  shrubbery  and  other  vegetation.  If  the  soil  be- 
adapted  to  the  growth  of  heavy  timber,  the  superior 
2*  c 


34  BOTATION   AND   DISTRIBUTION. 

kinds,  like  the  oak,  the  beech,  and  the  hard  maple,  will 
gradually  starve  out  the  inferior  species,  and  in  the 
course  of  time  predominate  over  the  whole  surface. 

When  I  consider  all  these  relations  between  plants  and 
animals,  I  feel  assured,  if  the  latter  were  destroyed  that 
plant  their  seeds,  many  species  would  perish  and  disap- 
pear from  the  face  of  the  earth.  Nature  has  provided, 
in  all  cases,  against  the  destruction  of  plants,  by  endow- 
ing the  animals  that  consume  their  fruits  with  certain 
habits  that  tend  to  perpetuate  and  preserve  them.  In 
this  way  they  make  amends  for  the  vast  quantities  they 
consume.  After  the  squirrels  and  jays  have  hoarded  nuts 
for  future  use,  they  do  not  find  all  their  stores ;  and  they 
sow  by  these  accidents  more  seeds  than  could  have  been 
planted  by  other  accidental  means,  if  no  living  creature 
fed  upon  them.  Animals  are  not  more  dependent  on 
the  fruit  of  these  trees  for  their  subsistence,  than  the 
trees  are  upon  them  for  the  continuance  of  their  species. 
And  it  is  pleasant  to  note  that,  while  plants  depend 
on  insects  for  the  fertilization  of  their  flowers,  they  are 
equally  indebted  to  a  higher  order  of  animals  for  plant- 
ing their  seeds.  The  wasteful  habits  of  animals  are  an 
important  means  for  promoting  this  end.  The  fruit  of 
the  oak,  the  hickory,  and  the  chestnut  will  soon  decay 
if  it  lies  on  the  surface  of  the  ground,  exposed  to  alter- 
nate dryness  and  moisture,  and  lose  its  power  of  germina- 
tion. Only  those  nuts  which  are  buried  under  the  surface 
are  in  a  condition  to  germinate.  Many  a  hickory  has 
grown  from  a  nut  deposited  in  the  burrow  of  a  squirrel ; 
and  it  is  not  an  extravagant  supposition  that  whole  for- 
ests of  oaks  and  hickories  may  have  been  planted  in  this 
manner. 

These  facts  are  too  much  neglected  in  our  studies  of 
nature.  A  knowledge  of  them,  and  a  consideration  of 
their  bearings  in  the  economy  of  nature,  might  have  saved 


ROTATION   AND   DISTRIBUTION.  35 

many  a  once  fertile  country  from  being  converted  into  a 
barren  waste,  and  may  serve  yet  to  restore  such  regions 
to  their  former  happy  condition.  But  these  little  facts 
are  not  of  sufficient  magnitude  to  excite  our  admiration, 
and  they  involve  a  certain  process  of  reasoning  that  is  not 
agreeable  to  common  minds,  or  even  to  the  more  culti- 
vated, which  have  been  confined  chiefly  to  technology. 
The  few  facts  to  which  I  have  alluded  in  this  essay  are 
such  as  lie  at  the  vestibule  of  a  vast  temple  that  has 
not  yet  been  entered.  I  am  not  ready  to  say  that  no  sin- 
gle species  of  the  animal  creation  may  not  be  destroyed 
without  derangement  of  the  method  of  nature ;  for  thou- 
sands have,  in  the  course  of  time,  become  extinct  by  the 
spontaneous  action  of  natural  agents.  But  there  is  reason 
to  believe  that,  if  any  species  should  be  destroyed  by  arti- 
ficial means,  certain  evils  of  grievous  magnitude  might 
follow  their  destruction. 

The  frugivorous  birds  are  the  victims  of  constant  per- 
secution from  the  proprietors  of  fruit  gardens.  Their  per- 
secutors do  not  consider  that  their  feeding  habits  have 
preserved  the  trees  and  shrubs  that  bear  fruit  from  utter 
annihilation.  They  are  the  agents  of  nature  for  dis- 
tributing vegetables  of  all  kinds  that  bear  a  pulpy  fruit 
in  places  entirely  inaccessible  to  their  seeds  by  any  other 
means.  Notwithstanding  the  strong  digestive  organs  of 
birds,  which  are  capable  of  dissolving  some  of  the  hardest 
substances,  the  stony  seeds  of  almost  all  kinds  of  pulpy 
fruit  pass  through  them  undigested.  By  this  providence 
of  nature  the  whole  earth  is  planted  with  fruit-bearing 
trees,  shrubs,  and  herbaceous  plants,  while  without  it  these 
would  ultimately  become  extinct.  This  may  seem  an  un- 
warrantable assertion.  It  is  admitted  that  birds  alone  could 
distribute  the  seeds  of  this  kind  of  plants  upon  the  tops 
of  mountains  and  certain  inaccessible  declivities,  which, 
without  their  agency,  must  be  entirely  destitute  of  this 


36  ROTATION  AND   DISTRIBUTION. 

description  of  vegetation.  But  these  inaccessible  places 
are  no  more  dependent  on  the  birds  than  the  plains  and 
the  valleys.  The  difference  in  the  two  cases  is  simply 
that  the  one  is  apparent,  like  a  simple  proposition  in 
geometry,  and  the  other  requires  a  course  of  philosophical 
reasoning  to  be  perfectly  understood. 


THE  WEEPING  WILLOW. 

IN  the  early  part  of  my  life,  one  of  my  favorite  resorts 
during  my  rambles  was  a  green  lane  bordered  by  a 
rude  stone  wall,  leading  through  a  vista  of  overarching 
trees,  and  redolent  always  with  the  peculiar  odors  of  the 
season.  At  the  termination  of  this  rustic  by-road,  —  a 
fit  approach  to  the  dwelling  of  the  wood-nymphs,  —  there 
was  a  gentle  rising  ground,  forming  a  small  tract  of  table- 
land, on  which  a  venerable  Weeping  Willow  stood,  —  a 
solitary  tree  overlooking  a  growth  of  humble  shrubs, 
once  the  tenants  of  an  ancient  garden.  The  sight  of  this 
tree  always  affected  me  with  sadness  mingled  with  a 
sensation  of  grandeur.  T^his  old  solitary  standard,  with  a 
few  rose-bushes  and  lilacs  beneath  its  umbrage,  was  all 
that  remained  on  the  premises  of  an  old  mansion-house 
which  had  long  ago  disappeared  from  its  enclosure.  Thus 
the  Weeping  Willow  became  associated  in  my  memory, 
not  with  the  graveyard  or  the  pleasure-ground,  but  with 
these  domestic  ruins,  the  sites  of  old  homesteads  whose 
grounds  had  partially  reverted  to  their  primitive  state  of 
wildness. 

Of  all  the  drooping  trees  the  Weeping  Willow  is  the 
most  remarkable,  from  the  perfect  pendulous  character  of 
its  spray.  It  is  also  consecrated  to  the  Muse  by  the  part 
which  has  been  assigned  to  it  in  many  a  scene  of  ro- 
mance, and  by  its  connection  with  pathetic  incidents 
recorded  in  Holy  Writ.  It  is  invested  with  a  moral  in- 
terest by  its  symbolical  representation  of  sorrow,  in  the 
drooping  of  its  terminal  spray,  by  its  fanciful  use  as  a 


38  THE  WEEPING  WILLOW. 

garland  for  disappointed  lovers,  and  by  the  employment 
of  it  in  burial-grounds  and  in  funereal  paintings.  We 
remember  it  in  sacred  history,"  associating  it  with  the 
rivers  of  Babylon  and  with  the  tears  of  the  children  of 
Israel,  who  sat  down  under  the  shade  of  this  tree  and 
hung  their  harps  upon  its  branches.  It  is  distinguished 
by  the  graceful  beauty  of  its  outlines,  its  light  green 
delicate  foliage,  its  sorrowing  attitude,  and  its  flowing 
drapery. 

Hence  the  "Weeping  Willow  never  fails  to  please  the 
sight  even  of  the  most  insensible  observer.  Whether  we 
see  it  waving  its  long  branches  over  some  pleasure- 
ground,  overshadowing  the  gravel- walk  and  the  flower  gar- 
den, or  watching  over  a  tomb  in  the  graveyard,  where  the 
warm  hues  of  its  foliage  yield  cheerfulness  to  the  scenes 
of  mourning,  or  trailing  its  floating  branches,  like  the 
tresses  of  a  Naiad,  over  some  silvery  lake  or  stream,  it  is 
in  all  cases  a  beautiful  object,  always  poetical,  always  pic- 
turesque, and  serves  by  its  alliance  with  what  is  hal- 
lowed in  romance  to  bind  us  more  closely  to  nature. 

It  is  not  easy  to  imagine  anything  of  this  character 
more  beautiful  than  the  spray  of  the  Weeping  Willow. 
Indeed,  there  is  no  other  tree  that  is  comparable  with  it 
in  this  respect.  The  American  elm  displays  a  more 
graceful  bend  of  all  the  branches  that  form  its  hemispher- 
ical head ;  and  there  are  several  weeping  birches  which 
are  very  picturesque  when  standing  by  a  natural  foun- 
tain on  some  green  hillside.  The  river  maple  is  also  a 
theme  of  constant  admiration,  from  the  graceful  flow  of 
its  long  branches  that  droop  perpendicularly  when  laden 
with  foliage,  but  partly  resume  their  erect  position  in 
winter,  when  denuded.  But  the  style  of  all  these  trees 
differs  entirely  from  that  of  the  Weeping  Willow,  which 
in  its  peculiar  form  of  beauty  is  unrivalled  in  the  whole 
vegetable  kingdom. 


THE  WEEPING  WILLOW.  39 

It  is  probable  that  the  drooping  trees  acquired  the 
name  of  "  weeping,"  by  assuming  the  attitude  of  a  person 
in  tears,  who  bends  over  and  seems  to  droop.  This  is  the 
general  attitude  of  affliction  in  allegorical  representa- 
tions. But  this  habit  is  far  from  giving  them  a  melan- 
choly expression,  which  is  more  generally  the  effect  of 
dark  sombre  foliage.  Hence  the  yew  seems  to  be  a  more 
appropriate  tree  for  burial-grounds,  if  it  be  desirable  to 
select  one  of  a  sombre  appearance.  The  bending  forms 
of  vegetation  are  universally  attractive,  by  emblemizing 
humility  and  other  qualities  that  excite  our  sympathy. 
All  the  drooping  plants,  herbs,  trees,  and  shrubs  are  poeti- 
cal, if  not  picturesque.  Thus  lilies,  with  less  positive 
beauty,  are  more  interesting  than  tulips. 

A  peculiar  type  of  the  drooping  tree  is  seen  in  the 
fir,  whose  lower  branches  bend  downwards,  almost  without 
a  curve,  from  their  junction  with  the  stem  of  the  tree. 
This  drooping  is  caused  by  the  weight  of  the  snow  that 
rests  upon  the  firs  during  the  winter  in  their  native 
northern  regions.  There  is  a  variety  of  the  beech,  and 
another  of  the  ash,  which  has  received  the  appellation 
of  weeping,  from  an  entire  inversion  of  the  branches,  both 
large  and  small  Such  trees  seem  to  me  only  a  hideous 
monstrosity,  and  I  never  behold  them  without  some  dis- 
agreeable feelings,  as  when  I  look  upon  a  deformed 
animal. 


VEKNAL    WOOD-SCENERY. 

ALT,  the  seasons  display  some  peculiar  beauty  that 
comes  from  the  tints  as  well  as  the  forms  of  vegeta- 
tion. Even  the  different  months  have  their  distinguish- 
ing shades  of  light  and  color.  Nature,  after  the  repose 
of  winter,  very  slowly  unfolds  her  beauties,  and  is  not 
lavish  in  the  early  months  of  any  description  of  orna- 
ment. Day  by  day  she  discloses  the  verdure  of  the  plain, 
the  swelling  buds  with  their  lively  and  various  colors, 
and  the  pale  hues  of  the  early  flowers.  She  brings  along 
her  offerings  one  by  one,  leading  from  harmony  to  har- 
mony, as  early  twilight  ushers  in  the  ruddy  tints  of  morn. 
We  perceive  both  on  the  earth  and  in  the  skies  the  forms 
and  tints  that  signalize  the  revival  of  Nature,  and  every 
rosy-bosomed  cloud  gives  promise  of  approaching  glad- 
ness and  beauty. 

By  the  frequent  changes  that  mark  the  aspect  of  the 
year  we  are  preserved  at  all  times  in  a  condition  to  re- 
ceive pleasure  from  the  outward  forms  of  Nature.  Her 
tints  are  as  various  as  the  forms  of  her  productions ;  and 
though  spring  and  autumn,  when  the  hues  of  vegetation 
are  more  widely  spread  and  yield  more  character  to  the 
landscape,  are  the  most  remarkable  for  their  general 
beauty,  individual  objects  in  summer  are  brighter  and 
more  beautiful  than  any  that  can  be  found  at  other  times. 
In  the  early  part  of  the  year,  Nature  tips  her  productions 
with  softer  hues,  that  gradually  ripen  into  darker  shades 
of  the  same  color,  or  into  pure  verdure.  By  pleasant 
and  slow  degrees  she  mingles  with  the  greenness  of  the 


VERNAL   WOOD-SCENERY.  41 

plain  the  hues  of  the  early  flowers,  and  spreads  a  charm- 
ing variety  of  warm  and  mellow  tints  upon  the  surface 
of  the  wood. 

In  treating  of  vernal  tints,  I  shall  refer  chiefly  to  ef- 
fects produced,  without  the  agency  of  flowers,  by  that 
general  coloring  of  the  leaves  and  spray  which  may" 
be  considered  the  counterpart  of  the  splendor  of  autumn. 
In  the  opening  of  the  year  many  inconspicuous  plants 
are  brought  suddenly  into  notice  by  their  lively  contrast 
with  the  dark  and  faded  complexion  of  the  ground.  The 
mosses,  lichens,  and  liverworts  perform,  therefore,  an  im- 
portant part  in  the  limning  of  the  vernal  landscape.  On 
the  bald  hills  the  surfaces  of  rocks  that  project  above  the 
soil,'  and  are  covered  with  these  plants,  are  brighter  than 
the  turf  that  surrounds  them,  with  its  seared  grasses 
and  herbage.  They  display  circles  of  painted  lichens, 
varying  from  an  olive-gray  to  red  and  yellow,  and  tufts 
of  green  mosses  which  surpass  the  fairest  artificial  lawn 
in  the  perfection  of  their  verdure.  Many  of  the  flower- 
less  plants  are  evergreen,  especially  the  ferns  and  lyco- 
podiums,  and  nearly  all  are  earlier  than  the  higher 
forms  of  vegetation  in  ripening  their  peculiar  hues. 

The  first  remarkable  vernal  tinting  of  the  forest  is 
manifest  in  the  spray  of  different  trees.  As  soon  as  the 
sap  begins  to  flow,  every  little  twig  becomes  brightened 
on  the  surface,  as  if  it  had  been  glossed  by  art.  The 
swelling  of  the  bark  occasioned  by  the  flow  of  sap  gives 
the  whole  mass  a  livelier  hue.  This  appearance  is  very 
evident  in  the  peach-tree,  in  willows  and  poplars,  in  the 
snowy  mespilus,  and  in  all  trees  with  a  long  and  slender 
spray.  Hence  the  ashen  green  of  the  poplar,  the  golden 
green  of  the  willow,  and  the  dark  crimson  of  the  peach- 
tree,  the  wild  rose,  and  the  red  osier,  are  perceptibly 
heightened  by  the  first  warm  days  of  spring.  Nor  is  this 
illumination  confined  to  the  species  I  have  named ;  for 


42  VERNAL  WOOD-SCENERY. 

even  the  dull  sprays  of  the  apple-tree,  the  cherry,  the 
birch,  and  the  lime,  are  dimly  flushed  with  the  hue  of 
reviving  life.  As  many  of  the  forest  trees  display  their 
principal  beauty  of  form  while  in  their  denuded  state, 
this  seasonal  polish  invites  our  attention,  particularly  to 
those  with  long  and  graceful  branches. 

The  swelling  buds,  which  are  for  the  most  part  very 
highly  colored,  whether  they  enclose  a  leaf  or  a  flower, 
add  greatly  to  this  luminous  appearance  of  the  trees. 
These  masses  of  innumerable  buds,  though  mere  colored 
dots,  produce  in  the  aggregate  a  great  amount  of  color. 
This  is  apparent  in  all  trees  as  soon  as  they  are  affected 
by  the  warmth  of  the  season.  But  as  vegetation  comes 
forward,  the  flower-buds  grow  brighter  and  brighter,  till 
they  are  fully  expanded,  some  in  the  form  of  fringes, 
as  in  most  of  our  forest  trees,  others,  as  in  our  orchard 
trees,  in  clusters  of  perfect  flowers.  This  drapery  of 
fringe,  seldom  highly  colored,  but  containing  a  great 
variety  of  pale  shades,  that  hangs  from  the  oak,  the  birch, 
the  willow,  the  alder,  and  the  poplar,  is  sufficient  to 
characterize  the  whole  forest,  and  forms  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  phenomena  of  vernal  wood- scenery. 

It  is  generally  supposed  that  the  beauties  of  tinted 
foliage  are  peculiar  to  autumn.  I  do  not  recollect  any 
landscape  painting  in  which  the  tints  of  spring  are  rep- 
resented. All  the  paintings  of  colored  leaves  are 
sketches  of  autumnal  scenes,  or  of  the  warm  glow  of 
sunlight.  Yet  there  is  hardly  a  tree  or  a  shrub  that  does 
not  display  in  its  opening  leaves  a  pale  shade  of  the  same 
tints  that  distinguish  the  species  or  the  individual  tree 
at  the  time  of  the  faU  of  the  leaf.  The  birch  and  the 
poplar  imitate  in  their  half-developed  leaves  the  yellow 
tints  of  their  autumnal  dress,  forming  a  yellow  shade  of 
green.  The  tender  leaves  of  the  maple  and  of  the  dif- 
ferent oaks  are  all  greenish  purple  of  different  shades. 


VERNAL  WOOD-SCENERY.  43 

On  the  other  hand,  the  foliage  of  trees  that  do  not  change 
their  color  in  the  autumn  displays  only  a  diluted  shade 
of  green,  in  its  half-unfolded  state.  This  remark,  how- 
ever, is  not  universal  in  its  application ;  for  we  see  the 
lilac,  that  appears  in  autumn  without  any  change,  coming 
out  in  the  spring  with  dark  impurpled  foliage. 

Green  cannot,  therefore,  be  said  to  characterize  a  ver- 
nal landscape.  It  belongs  more  especially  to  summer. 
The  prevailing  color  of  the  forest  during  the  unfolding 
of  the  leaf,  when  viewed  from  an  elevated  stand,  is 
a  cinereous  purple,  mingled  with  an  olive-green.  The 
flowers  of  the  elm,  of  a  dark  maroon,  and  the  crimson 
flowers  of  the  red  maple,  coming  before  their  leaves,  are 
an  important  element  in  the  earliest  hues  of  the  wood. 
The  red  maple,  especially,  which  is  the  principal  timber 
of  the  swamps  in  all  the  southern  parts  of  New  England, 
yields  a  warm  and  ruddy  glow  to  the  woods  in  spring, 
hardly  less  to  be  admired  than  its  own  bright  tints  in 
October.  Green  hues,  which  become,  day  by  day,  more 
apparent  in  the  foliage,  do  not  predominate  until  summer 
has  arrived  and  is  fully  established. 

It  is  only  in  the  spring  that  the  different  species  of  the 
forest  can  be  identified  by  their  colors  at  distances  too 
great  for  observing  their  botanical  characters.  A  red- 
maple  wood  is  distinguished  by  the  very  tinge  that  per- 
vades the  spray,  when  the  trees  are  so  far  off  that  we 
cannot  see  the  forms  of  their  branches  and  flowers,  as  if 
the  ruddy  hues  of  morning  illuminated  the  whole  mass. 
A  grove  of  limes  would  be  known  by  their  dark-colored 
spray,  approaching  to  blackness  ;  an  assemblage  of  white 
birches  by  that  of  a  chocolate-color  diverging  from  their 
clean  white  shafts.  A  beechen  grove  would  manifest 
a  light  cinereous  color  throughout,  mixed  with  a  pale 
green  as  the  foliage  appears.  If  there  were  as  many  as- 
semblages as  there  are  species,  we  might  at  the  time  the 


44  VERNAL  WOOD-SCENERY. 

buds  are  starting  see  in  each  some  shade  to  distinguish  it 
from  all  the  others.  The  different  complexions  of  the 
woods,  as  observed  in  their  spray  no  less  than  in  their 
foliage  at  a  later  period,  would  form  a  curious  and  not 
uninteresting  study. 


THE  HOESE-CHESTNUT. 

THE  Horse-Chestnut  I  would  compare  with  the  locust 
on  account  of  their  difference,  not  their  resemblance. 
Like  the  locust,  it  is  remarkable  for  the  beauty  of  its 
flowers,  though  even  in  this  respect  the  trees  are  of  an 
opposite  character ;  the  one  bears  them  in  upright  pyra- 
mids, the  other  in  pendent  racemes.  Those  of  the  locust 
are  half  closed  and  modest  in  their  colors  of  white 
and  brown ;  those  of  the  Horse-Chestnut  are  wide  open 
and  somewhat  flaring,  though  of  a  delicate  rose-color  and 
white.  While  in  blossom  the  tree  is  unsurpassed  in  its 
beautiful  display  of  flowers,  that  "  give  it  the  appearance 
of  an  immense  chandelier  covered  with  innumerable 
girandoles." 

After  all,  we  can  bestow  very  little  praise  upon  the 
Horse-Chestnut,  except  for  its  flowers.  The  foliage  of  the 
tree  displays  neither  lightness,  nor  elegance,  nor  bril- 
liancy of  verdure,  nor  autumnal  tinting,  nor  any  flowing 
beauty  of  outline.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  homely  and 
heavy,  though  it  affords  a  very  deep  shade.  .Indeed, 
when  we  view  a  Horse-Chestnut  from  a  moderate  distance, 
the  arrangement  of  its  leaves  give  it  a  very  pleasing 
tufted  appearance,  unlike  what  we  see  in  any  other  spe- 
cies. George  Barnard  says  of  it :  "  This  cannot  be  called 
a  picturesque  tree,  its  shape  being  very  formal ;  but  the 
broad  masses  of  foliage,  although  too  defined  and  unbroken 
to  be  agreeable  to  the  painter,  are  grand  and  majestic  when 
seen  in  an  avenue  or  in  groups." 

As  a  shade-tree,  or  a  tree  for  avenues  and  pleasure- 


46  THE  CATALPA. 

grounds,  none  would  deny  the  merits  of  the  Horse- 
Chestnut;  but  when  denuded  it  is  a  miserable-looking 
object,  with  its  terminal  branches  resembling  drumsticks, 
its  primness  without  grace,  and  its  amplitude  without 
grandeur.  The  birds  seldom  build  their  nests  among  its 
branches,  which  are  too  wide  apart  to  afford  them  pro- 
tection or  accommodation ;  for  this  tree  is  absolutely 
without  any  spray.  Its  fruit,  which  is  borne  in  great 
abundance,  sustains  neither  bird  nor  quadruped,  nor  is  it 
profitable  for  man.  Hence  it  has  always  been  regarded 
by  poets  and  moralists  as  a  symbol  of  extravagance  and 
waste. 


THE    CATALPA. 

THE  Catalpa,  though  an  American  tree,  is  not  indigenous 
in  New  England,  nor  farther  north  than  Philadelphia.  It 
is  allied,  in  its  botanical  characters,  to  the  bignonia,  one 
of  the  most  magnificent  of  the  American  flowering  vines, 
which  in  Virginia  and  the  Carolinas  climbs  the  trunks  of 
the  loftiest  trees,  and,  rising  to  a  hundred  feet  or  more, 
completely  encompasses  them  with  flowers  of  rare  beauty 
and  foliage  of  the  finest  green.  The  Catalpa  requires  no- 
tice here,  because  it  is  not  uncommon  in  our  gardens  and 
pleasure-grounds,  and  it  is  becoming  more  and  more  gen- 
eral as  a  wayside  tree.  It  is  remarkable  as  a  late  bloomer, 
putting  forth  its  large  panicles  of  white  flowers  late  in 
July,  when  those  of  other  trees  and  shrubs  have  mostly 
faded,  and  covering  the  tree  so  thickly  as  almost  to  con- 
ceal its  dense  mass  of  foliage.  The  leaves  are  very  large, 
but  flowing,  heart-shaped,  and  of  a  light  and  somewhat 
yellowish  green.  The  Catalpa  is  not  yet  very  common ; 
but  it  is  one  of  those  rare  productions  which  is  never 
seen  without  being  admired. 


FOEMS  AND  EXPRESSION  OF  TREES. 

THE  different  forms  of  trees,  and  their  endless  variety 
of  foliage  and  spray,  have,  from  the  earliest  times,  been 
favorite  studies  of  the  painter  and  the  naturalist.  Not 
only  has  each  species  certain  distinguishing  marks,  but 
their  specific  characters  are  greatly  modified  in  individual 
trees.  The  Psalmist  compares  a  godly  man  to  a  tree 
that 'is  planted  by  rivers  of  water,  whose  leaf  shall  not 
wither,  —  seeing  in  the  stateliness  and  beauty  of  such  a 
tree  an  emblem  of  the  noble  virtues  of  the  human  heart. 
Trees  are  distinguished  by  their  grandeur  or  their  ele- 
gance, by  their  primness  or  their  grace,  by  the  stiffness  of 
their  leaves  and  branches  or  by  their  waving  and  tremu- 
lous motions.  Some  stand  forth  as  if  in  defiance  of 
the  wind  and  the  tempest;  others,  with  long  drooping 
branches,  find  security  in  bending  to  the  gale,  like  the 
slender  herbs  in  the  meadow. 

Trees  are  generally  classed  as  landscape  ornaments, 
according  to  their  general  outlines.  "  Some  trees  ascend 
vertically,"  says  St.  Pierre,  "and  having  arrived  at  a 
certain  height,  in  an  air  perfectly  unobstructed,  fork 
off  in  various  tiers,  and  send  out  their  branches  hori- 
zontally, like  an  apple-tree;  or  incline  them  towards  the 
earth,  like  a  fir ;  or  hollow  them  in  the  form  of  a  cup, 
like  the  sassafras ;  or  round  them  into  the  shape  of  a 
mushroom,  like  the  pine  ;  or  straighten  them  into  a  pyra- 
mid, like  the  poplar;  or  roll  them  as  wool  upon  the 
distaff,  like  the  cypress;  or  suffer  them  to  float  at  the 
discretion  of  the  winds,  like  the  birch."  These  are  the 


48  FORMS  AND   EXPRESSION   OF   TREES. 

normal  varieties  in  the  shape  of  trees.  Others  may  be 
termed  accidental,  like  those  of  the  tall  and  imperfectly 
developed  trees,  which  have  been  cramped  by  growing 
in  dense  assemblages,  and  of  the  pollards  that  have  is- 
sued from  the  stumps  and  roots  of  other  trees. 

Trees  are  generally  wanting  in  that  kind  of  beauty 
which  we  admire  in  a  vase,  or  an  elegant  piece  of 
furniture.  They  have  more  of  those  qualities  we  look 
for  in  a  picture  and  in  the  ruder  works  of  architecture. 
Nature  is  neither  geometrical  nor  precise  in  her  delinea- 
tions. She  betrays  a  design  in  all  her  works,  but  never 
casts  two  objects  in  the  same  mould.  She  does  not  paint 
by  formulas,  nor  build  by  square  and  compass,  nor  plant 
by  a  bine  and  dibble ;  she  takes  no  note  of  formal  arrange- 
ments, or  of  the  "  line  of  beauty,"  or  of  direct  adaptation 
of  means  to  ends.  She  shakes  all  things  together,  as  in  a 
dice-box,  and  as  they  fall  out  there  they  remain,  growing 
crooked,  .or  straight,  mean  or  magnificent,  beautiful  or 
ugly,  but  adapted  by  the  infinite  variety  of  their  forms 
and  dispositions  to  the  wants  and  habits  of  all  creatures. 

The  beauty  of  trees  is  something  that  exists  chiefly  in 
our  imagination.  We  admire  them  for  their  evident 
adaptation  to  purposes  of  shade  and  shelter.  Some  of 
them  we  regard  as  symbols  or  images  of  a  fine  poetic 
sentiment.  Such  are  the  slender  willows  and  poplars, 
that  remind  us  of  grace  and  refinement,  becoming  the 
emblems  of  some  agreeable  moral  affection,  or  the  embod- 
iment of  some  striking  metaphor.  Thus  Coleridge  per- 
sonifies the  white  birch  as  the  "  Lady  of  the  Woods,"  and 
the  oak"  by  other  poets  is  called  the  monarch,  and  the 
ash  the  Venus  of  the  forest.  The  weeping  willow, 
beautiful  on  account  of  its  graceful  spray,  becomes  still 
more  so  when  regarded  as  the  emblem  of  sorrow.  The 
oak,  in  like  manner,  is  interesting  as  the  symbol  of 
strength  and  fortitude.  A  young  fir-tree  always  reminds 


FOKMS   AND   EXPKESSION   OF   TREES.  49 

us  of  primness ;  hence  the  name  of  spruce,  which  is  applied 
to  many  of  the  species,  is  a  word  used  to  express  formal- 
ity. The  cedar  of  Lebanon  would  be  viewed  by  all  with 
a  certain  romantic  interest,  on  account  of  the  frequent 
mention  of  it  in  Holy  Writ,  as  well  as  for  its  nobleness 
of  dimensions  and  stature. 

It  is  with  certain  interesting  scenes  in  the  romance  of 
travel  that  we  associate  the  palms  of  the  tropics.  They 
have  acquired  singular  attractions  by  appearing  frequently 
in  scenes  that  represent  the  life  and  manners  of  the  sim- 
ple inhabitants  of  the  equatorial  regions.  We  see  them 
in  pictures  bending  their  fan-like  heads  majestically  over 
the  humble  hut  of  the  Indian,  supplying  him  at  once  with 
milk,  bread,  and  fruit,  and  affording  him  the  luxury  of 
their  shade.  They  emblemize  the  beneficence  of  nature, 
which,  by  means  of  their  products,  supplies  the  wants  of 
man  before  he  has  learned  the  arts  of  civilized  life. 

Writers  in  general  apply  the  term  "picturesque"  to  trees 
which  are  devoid  of  symmetry  and  very  irregular  in  their 
outlines,  either  crooked  from  age  or  from  some  natural 
eccentricity  of  growth.  Thus  the  tupelo  is  so  called,  to 
distinguish  it  from  round-headed  and  symmetrical  or 
beautiful  trees.  This  distinction  is  not  very  precise ;  but 
it  is  sanctioned  by  general  use,  and  answers  very  well  for 
common  purposes  of  vague  description.  I  shall  use  the 
words  in  a  similar  manner,  not  adhering  to  the  distinc- 
tion as  philosophical.  Indeed,  it  is  impossible  to  find 
words  that  will  clearly  express  a  complex  idea.  Words 
are  very  much  like  tunes  played  on  a  jew's-harp ;  the 
notes  intended  to  be  given  by  the  performer  are  accom- 
panied by  the  louder  ring  of  the  key-note  of  the  instru- 
ment, making  it  difficult  to  detect  the  notes  of  the  tune, 
except  in  the  hands  of  an  extraordinary  performer. 

Nature  has  provided  against  the  disagreeable  effects  that 
would  result  from  the  dismemberment  of  trees,  by  giving 


50        FORMS  AND  EXPRESSION  OF  TREES. 

to  those  which  are  the  most  common  a  great  irregularity 
of  outline,  admitting  of  disproportion  without  deformity. 
Symmetry  in  the  forms  of  natural  objects  becomes  weari- 
some by  making  too  great  a  demand  upon  the  attention 
required  for  observing  the  order  and  relations  of  the  dif- 
ferent parts.  But  if  the  objects  in  the  landscape  be  irreg- 
ular, both  in  their  forms  and  their  distribution,  we  make 
no  effort  to  attend  to  the  relations  of  parts  to  the  whole, 
because  no  such  harmony  is  indicated.  Such  a  scene 
has  the  beauty  of  repose.  The  opposite  effect  is  ob- 
served in  works  of  architecture,  in  which  irregularity  puz- 
zles the  mind  to  discover  the  mutual  relations  of  parts, 
and  becomes  disagreeable  by  disturbing  our  calculations 
and  disappointing  our  curiosity.  The  charm  of  art  is 
variety  combined  with  uniformity ;  the  charm  of  nature 
is  variety  without  uniformity.  Nature  speaks  to  us  in 
prose,  art  in  verse. 

Though  we  always  admire  a  perfectly  symmetrical  oak 
or  elm,  because  such  perfection  is  rare,  it  will  be  admitted 
that  the  irregular  forms  of  trees  are  more  productive  of 
agreeable  impressions  on  the  mind.  The  oak,  one  of  the 
most  interesting  of  all  trees,  is,  in  an  important  sense, 
absolutely  ugly,  especially  when  old  age  has  increased  its 
picturesque  attractions.  Indeed,  if  we  could  always  rea- 
son correctly  on  the  subjects  of  our  consciousness,  we 
should  find  that  a  very  small  part  of  that  complex  quality 
which  we  call  beauty  yields  any  organic  pleasure  to  the 
sight.  The  charm  of  most  of  the  objects  in  this  category 
exists  only  in  our  imaginations.  In  trees  and  the  general 
objects  of  the  landscape  we  look  neither  for  symmetry  nor 
proportion ;  the  absence  of  these  qualities  is,  therefore, 
never  disagreeable.  It  is  the  nonfulfilment  of  some 
expectation,  or  the  apparently  imperfect  supply  of  some 
important  want,  that  offends  the  sight,  as  when  a  conspic- 
uous gap  occurs  in  some  finely  proportioned  work  of  art. 


FORMS  AND  EXPRESSION  OF  TREES. 


51 


The  fantastic  shapes  assumed  under  certain  conditions  by 
the  elm,  the  tupelo,  the  swamp-oak,  and  less  frequently 
by  the  beech  and  the  hickory,  constitute  one  of  the  prin- 
cipal attractions  of  a  half-wooded  landscape,  and  never 
affect  us  with  any  sense  of  deformity. 


FREE 

PUBLIC  LIBRARY, 

rTAPOISETT 


THE  LILAC. 

THE  Lilac,  though  not  one  of  our  native  trees,  has  be- 
come so  generally  naturalized  in  our  fields  and  gardens 
as  hardly  to  be  distinguished  from  them  except  by  its 
absence  from  the  forest.  It  is  common  in  all  waste  lands 
that  were  formerly  the  sites  of  ancient  dwelling-houses, 
marking  the  spot  where  the  garden  was  situated  by  its 
irregular  clumps ;  for  when  neglected  it  does  not  assume 
the  shape  of  a  tree,  but  forms  an  assemblage  of  long 
stems  from  one  spreading  root,  like  the  barberry  and  the 
sumach.  Under  favorable  conditions  it  is  a  very  hand- 
some tree,  seldom  rising  above  twelve  or  fifteen  feet,  but 
displaying  a  round  head,  and  covered  in  its  season  with  a 
profusion  of  flowers,  unfolding  their  beautiful  pyramidal 
clusters  regularly  on  the  last  week  in  May.  The  color 
of  these  flowers  is  perfectly  unique,  having  given  the 
name  by  which  painters  distinguish  one  of  their  most 
important  tints.  The  foliage  of  this  tree  is  not  remark- 
able, except  for  the  regular  heart  shape  of  the  leaves. 
It  displays  no  tints  in  the  autumn,  but  falls  from  the  tree 
while  its  verdure  remains  untarnished. 

The  Lilac  is  still  cultivated  and  prized  in  all  our  coun- 
try villages.  But  its  praise  is  seldom  spoken  in  these 
days,  for  Fashion,  who  refuses  to  acknowledge  any  beauty 
in  what  is  common,  discarded  this  tree  as  soon  as  it  be- 
came domesticated  in  humble  cottage  gardens.  Even  the 
rose  would  long  ago  have  been  degraded  from  its  ancient 
honors  by  this  vulgar  arbiter  of  taste,  if  it  had  not  been 
multiplied  into  hundreds  of  varieties,  permitting  one 


THE   BABBEEEY.  53 

after  another  to  take  its  turn  in  monopolizing  to  itself 
those  praises  which  are  due  to  the  primitive  rose. 


THE  BARBERRY. 

ALL  the  inhabitants  of  New  England  are  familiar  with 
the  common  Barberry,  one  of  those  humble  objects  of  the 
landscape  that  possess  great  merit  with  little  celebrity. 
It  is  allied  in  picturesque  scenery  with  the  whortleberry 
and  the  bramble.  We  see  it  in  hilly  pastures,  upon  soils 
less  primitive  than  those  occupied  by  the  vaccinium, 
though  it  is  not  uncommon  as  an  under-shrub  in  many  of 
our  half-wooded  lands.  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  ob- 
tain a  definite  idea  of  the  nature  of  those  qualities  that 
entitle  a  plant  to  the  praises  of  florists  and  landscape 
gardeners,  since  we  find  them  admiring  the  ugly  ma- 
fa  onia  more  than  the  common  Barberry,  and  the  glutinous 
and  awkward  rose-acacia  more  than  the  common  locust. 
The  praises  of  the  Barberry  have  not  been  spoken ; 
but  if  our  landscape  were  deprived  of  this  shrub,  half 
the  beauty  of  our  scenery  would  be  wanting  in  many 
places.  Its  flowers  hanging  from  every  spray  in  golden 
racemes,  arranged  all  along  in  the  axils  of  the  leaves  from 
the  junction  of  the  small  branches  to  their  extremities, 
always  attract  attention.  But  though  elegant  and  grace- 
ful, they  are  not  so  conspicuous  as  the  scarlet  fruit  in 
autumn.  There  is  not  in  our  fields  a  more  beautiful 
shrub  in  October,  when  our  rude  New  England  hills 
gleam  with  frequent  clumps  of  them,  following  the 
courses  of  the  loose  stone  walls  ,and  the  borders  of  rustic 
lanes.  Even  after  it  is  stripped  of  its  fruit,  the  pale  red 
tints  of  its  foliage  render  it  still  an  attractive  object  in 
the  landscape. 


54  THE   CEANOTHUS,   OR  JERSEY   TEA. 


THE  MISSOUKI  CURRANT. 

AMONG  the  flowering  shrubs  which  are  universally  ad- 
mired for  the  fragrance  and  beauty  of  their  early  blos- 
soms, the  Missouri  Currant  deserves  more  than  a  passing 
mention.  Though  introduced  into  New  England  since  the 
beginning  of  the  present  century,  it  has  become  a  univer- 
sal favorite  in  our  gardens,  where  it  is  cultivated  chiefly 
for  the  agreeable  odor  of  its  flowers,  resembling  that  of 
cloves,  and  penetrating  the  air  on  all  still  days  in  May. 
This  shrub  has  a  small  leaf  with  irregular  pointed  lobes, 
turning  to  a  pale  crimson  in  autumn.  The  flowers  are  in 
small  racemes  like  those  of  the  common  garden  currant, 
but  brighter  in  their  hues,  which  are  of  a  golden  yellow, 
and  producing  only  a  few  large  berries  of  a  pure  shining 
black.  This  species  is  chiefly  prized  for  its  flowers,  and  is 
not  cultivated  for  its  fruit. 


THE  CEANOTHUS,   OR  JERSEY  TEA. 

THE  Ceanothus  was  formerly  well  known  to  the  people 
of  the  United  States  under  the  name  of  Jersey  Tea.  Its 
leaves  were  extensively  used  as  an  imitation  tea  during  the 
Eevolution.  They  seem  to  possess  no  decided  medicinal 
qualities,  being  somewhat  astringent,  slightly  bitter,  but 
not  aromatic.  It  has  been  learned  from  experience  that 
the  aromatic  plants,  by  constant  use  as  teas,  will  pall  upon 
the  appetite,  and  injuriously  affect  digestion  ;  while  those 
which  are  slightly  bitter,  but  wanting  in  aroma,  like  the 
China  tea  plant,  may  be  used  without  seriously  affecting 
the  health  for  an  indefinite  space  of  time.  I  believe  it 
may  also  be  stated  as  a  maxim,  that  those  plants  whose 


THE   CEANOTHUS,   OR  JERSEY  TEA.  55 

properties  are  sufficiently  active  to  be  used  as  medicines 
have  never  been  long  employed  by  any  people  as  substi- 
tutes for  tea. 

The  flowers  of  the  Ceanothus  are  white,  in  full  and 
elegant  clusters,  without  any  formality  of  shape,  having 
a  downy  appearance,  always  attracting  attention,  not  so 
much  by  their  beauty  as  by  their  delicacy  and  their  pro- 
fusion. This  plant  is  abundant  in  New  England,  flowering 
in  June  on  the  borders  of  dry  woods. 


FOLIAGE. 

FOLIAGE  is  the  most  conspicuous  of  the  minute  pro- 
ductions of  nature.  To  the  leaves  of  trees  we  look,  not 
only  for  the  gratification  of  our  sense  of  beauty,  but  as 
the  chief  source  of  grateful  shade  and  of  the  general 
charms  of  summer.  They  are  the  pride  of  trees  no  less 
than  their  flowers,  and  the  cause  of  healthful  freshness  in 
the  atmosphere.  They  afford  concealment  to  small  birds 
and  quadrupeds,  they  give  color  to  the  woods,  and  yield 
constant  pleasure  to  the  sight  without  any  weariness.  It 
is  remarkable  that  we  always  trace  with  delight  the 
forms  of  leaves  in  other  objects  of  nature,  —  in  the  frost- 
work on  our  windows,  in  the  lichens  that  cover  the  rocks 
in  the  forest,  in  the  figures  on  a  butterfly's  wing.  Espe- 
cially in  art  do  we  admire  the  imitation  of  foliage.  It  is, 
indeed,  the  source  of  half  the  beauty  of  this  earth  ;  for  it 
constitutes  the  verdure  of  field  and  lawn,  as  well  as  of 
woods.  Flowers  are  partial  in  their  distribution,  but  foli- 
age is  universal,  and  is  the  material  with  which  nature 
displays  countless  forms  of  beauty,  from  the  small  acicular 
leaves  of  the  delicate  heath  plant,  to  the  broad  pennons 
of  the  banana,  that  float  like  banners  over  the  hut  of  the 
negro. 

With  the  putting  forth  of  leaves  we  associate  the  most 
cheerful  and  delightful  of  seasons.  In  their  plaited  and 
half-unfolded  condition  and  in  their  lighter  hues  we  behold 
the  revival  of  spring,  and  iu  their  full  development  and 
perfected  verdure  the  wealth,  the  ripeness,  and  the  joyful 
fruition  of  summer.  The  different  colors  they  assume 


FOLIAGE.  57 

are  indeed  the  true  dials  of  the  year ;  pale  shades  of  all 
denote  its  vernal  opening ;  dark  and  uniform  shades  of 
green  mark  the  summer  ;  and  those  of  gold,  crimson  and 
russet  the  autumn ;  so  that  by  the  leaves  alone  we  might 
determine  the  month  of  the  year.  They  form  a  delight- 
ful ground-work  both  for  fruit  and  for  flowers,  harmoniz- 
ing with  each  and  making  no  discord  with  any  hues  of 
vegetation.  If  we  consider  leaves  only  as  individual 
objects,  they  will  not  compare  with  flowers  either  in 
beauty  of  form  or  color.  A  single  leaf  seldom  attracts  a 
great  deal  of  attention ;  but  leaves  in  the  aggregate  are 
so  important  a  part  of  the  beauty  of  Nature,  that  she 
would  not  possess  any  great  attraction  for  the  sight 
without  them.  A  cactus,  though  admired  as  a  curiosity, 
and  as  the  parent  of  magnificent  flowers,  is  on  account 
of  its  leafless  habit  but  a  miserable  object ;  and  we  can 
imagine  how  forlorn  must  be  the  scenery  of  those  Peru- 
vian regions  where  the  different  species  of  cactus  are  the 
principal  forms  of  vegetation. 

It  is  very  general  to  admire  foliage  in  proportion  as  it 
is  dense  and  capable  of  affording  an  impenetrable  shade ; 
but  however  desirable  this  may  be  to  yield  us  a  pleasant 
retreat  on  a  summer  noon,  the  beauty  of  a  tree  is  not 
much  improved  by  this  quality.  At  a  distance  it  pre- 
sents a  lumpish  and  uniform  mass,  with  but  little  charac- 
ter ;  while  a  tree  with  moderately  thin  foliage,  so  thin  as 
to  be  penetrated  by  the  flickering  sunshine,  often  discov- 
ers a  great  deal  of  character,  by  permitting  the  forms  of 
the  branches  to  be  traced  through  its  shadows.  When  I 
sit  under  a  tree,  I.  want  to  see  the  blue  sky  faintly  glim- 
mering through  the  leaves,  and  to  view  their  forms  on  its 
clear  surface  when  I  look  upwards.  I  would  dispense 
with  a  profusion  of  shade,  if  it  could  be  obtained  only  by 
shutting  these  things  out  from  observation.  Hence  I  al- 
ways feel  a  sensation  of  gladness  when  rambling  in  a 

3* 


58  FOLIAGE. 

birchen  grove,  in  which  the  small  thin  foliage  and  airy 
spray  of  the  trees  permit  the  sun  and  shade  to  meet  and 
mingle  playfully  around  my  path. 

The  lumpish  character  of  the  foliage  of  large-leaved 
trees,  like  the  tulip  and  magnolia,  is  perceptible  at  al- 
most any  distance,  causing  them  to  appear  like  green 
blots  upon  the  landscape.  The  small-leaved  trees,  on  the 
contrary,  exhibit  a  certain  neatness  of  spray,  which  im- 
mediately affects  the  eye  with  a  sensation  of  beauty. 
This  appearance  is  beautifully  exemplified  in  the  beech. 
Some  of  the  large-leaved  trees,  however,  possess  a  kind 
of  formality  that  renders  them  very  attractive.  Such  is 
the  horse-chestnut,  that  spreads  out  its  broad  palmate 
leaves  with  their  tips  slightly  drooping,  like  so  many 
parasols  held  one  above  another.  People  have  learned  to 
admire  large  and  broad  foliage  from  descriptions  of  the 
immense  size  of  tropical  leaves,  and  by  associating  them 
with  the  romance  of  a  voluptuous  climate.  The  long 
pennon-like  leaves  of  the  banana  and  the  wide  fronds 
of  the  fan  palm  naturally  excite  the  imagination  of  the 
inhabitant  of  the  North. 

The  form  of  leaves,  no  less  than  their  size,  has  a 
great  share  in  their  general  effects,  even  when  viewed 
from  a  distant  point,  where  their  outlines  cannot  be  dis- 
criminated. If  they  are  deeply  cleft,  like  those  of  the 
river  maple  and  the  scarlet  oak,  or  finely  pinnate,  like 
those  of  the  locust  and  the  mountain  ash,  we  perceive  a 
light,  feathery  appearance  in  the  whole  mass,  before  we  are 
near  enough  to  distinguish  the  form  of  individual  leaves. 
This  quality  is  apparent  in  the  honey  locust  as  far  off  as  the 
tree  can  be  identified.  Hence  the  forms  of  leaves  do  not 
produce  all  their  effect  upon  a  near  view ;  but  in  orna- 
mental designs  in  the  fine  arts  the  delineations  of  foliage 
alone  are  considered.  In  the  tracery  of  fenestral  archi- 
tecture, leaves  are  a  very  general  and  favorite  ornament ; 


FOLIAGE.  59 

and  in  photographic  pictures  of  single  leaves,  the 
beauty  of  their  outlines  becomes  more  evident  than  in 
nature. 

The  most  remarkable  quality  of  foliage  is  color ;  and 
all  will  admit  that  green  is  the  only  color  that  would  not 
produce  weariness  and  final  disgust.  Omitting  what  may 
be  said  of  autumn  tints,  the  different  shades  of  green  in 
the  forest,  both  while  the  foliage  is  ripening  and  after  its 
maturity,  constitute  a  very  important  distinction  of  indi- 
viduals and  species.  Pure  green  is  rarely  found  in  any 
kind,  except  in  its  early  stage  of  ripeness.  The  foliage 
of  trees,  when  fully  matured,  is  slightly  tinged  with 
brown  or  russet,  and  on  the  under  side  with  white  or  blue. 
Painters,  therefore,  seldom  use  unalloyed  green  in  their 
foliage ;  for  even  if  they  would  represent  its  appearance 
in  early  summer,  when  its  verdure  is  nearly  pure,  the 
effects  of  sunshine  and  shade  upon  the  green  forest  can 
be  produced  only  by  a  liberal  mixture  of  the  warm  tints 
of  orange  and  yellow  when  the  sunshine  falls  upon  it, 
and  of  purple  and  violet  when  it  is  in  shadow. 

If  I  were  to  select  an  example  of  what  seems  to  me 
the  purest  green  of  vegetation,  I  should  point  to  grass 
when  smoothly  shorn,  as  in  a  well-dressed  lawn,  so  that 
the  leaf  only  remains.  By  comparing  the  verdure  of  dif- 
ferent trees  with  this  example,  we  shall  find  it  generally 
of  a  darker  shade  and  inferior  purity.  The  only  trees  of 
our  soil  that  seem  to  me  lighter,  when  in  leaf,  than  grass, 
are  the  plane  and  the  catalpa.  We  must  observe  trees  on 
a  cloudy  day  to  distinguish  the  different  shades  of  their 
foliage  with  precision.  In  such  a  state  of  the  atmosphere 
they  are  all  equally  favored  by  the  light ;  while,  if  the 
sun  shines  upon  them,  their  verdure  is  modified  according 
to  the  direction  in  which  it  is  viewed. 

That  kind  of  foliage  to  which  the  epithet  "  silver "  is 
usually  applied  is  a  very  general  favorite ;  but  it  is  ad- 


60  FOLIAGE. 

mired  only  because  it  is  rare.  I  cannot  believe,  if  the 
two  kinds  were  equally  common,  that  the  silver  leaf 
would  be  preferred  to  the  green ;  for  this  is  the  color  that 
affords  the  most  enduring  satisfaction.  The  white  poplar 
is  the  most  remarkable  example  of  silver  foliage.  The 
river  maple  has  less  of  this  quality,  though  it  seems  to  be 
one  of  the  points  for  which  it  is  admired.  Nature  dis- 
plays but  very  little  variegated  foliage  among  her  wild 
productions,  except  in  the  spring  and  autumn.  It  is 
evidently  an  abnormal  habit ;  hence  we  find  this  variega- 
tion chiefly  in  those  plants  which  have  been  modified  by 
the  cultivator's  art,  and  it  seldom  constitutes  a  specific 
mark  of  distinction. 

In  our  studies  of  foliage  we  must  not  overlook  the 
grasses,  which  are  composed  almost  entirely  of  leaves. 
They  contribute  as  much  to  the  beauty  of  landscape  as 
the  verdure  of  trees,  and  collectively  more  than  flow- 
ers. "We  need  only  a  passing  thought  to  convince  us 
how  tame  and  lifeless  the  landscape  would  be,  though 
every  hill  were  crowned  with  flowers,  and  every  tree 
blossomed  with  gay  colors,  if  there  were  no  grasses  or 
some  kind  of  herbage  to  take  their  place.  Hence  the  su- 
perior beauty  of  Northern  landscape  compared  with  the 
general  scenery  of  tropical  regions.  There  are  more  indi- 
vidual objects  in  a  Southern  land  which  are  curious  and 
beautiful,  but  its  want  of  green  fields  soon  renders  its 
scenery  wearisome. 

There  is  also  an  interest  attached  to  hills  and  meadows 
covered  with  green  herbage,  and  pastured  by  flocks  and 
herds,  that  comes  from  our  sympathies  and  imagination, 
and  causes  the  verdure  of  grass,  when  outspread  upon  their 
surface,  to  possess  a  moral  or  relative  beauty  displayed 
by  few  other  natural  objects.  There  is  nothing  else  in 
landscape  to  be  compared  with  it,  and  nearly  all  out- 
door scenes  would  be  cold  and  insipid  without  it.  It 


FOLIAGE.  61 

expresses  the  fertility  of  the  soil;  it  tells  of  gentle 
showers  that  have  not  been  wanting ;  and  it  becomes 
thereby  the  symbol  of  providential  care,  the  sign  of  pas- 
toral abundance  and  rural  prosperity.  We  find  the  grasses 
only  where  nature  has  made  the  greatest  provision  for  the 
comfort  and  happiness  of  man  and  animals.  All  the 
beauties  and  bounties  of  springtime  and  harvest  gather 
round  them ;  the  dews  of  morning  glisten  upon  them  like 
stars  in  the  heavens ;  the  flowers  are  sprinkled  upon  them 
like  gems  in  beautiful  tapestry ;  the  little  brooks  ripple 
through  them  with  sounds  that  are  always  cheerful,  and 
flash  in  the  sunlight  as  they  leap  over  their  bending 
blades.  The  merry  multitudes  of  the  insect  race  gain 
from  them  shelter  and  subsistence,  and  send  up  an  un- 
ceasing chorus  of  merry  voices  from  their  verdure,  which 
is  a  beautiful  counterpart  of  the  blue  of  heaven. 

It  may  be  truly  said  that  no  splendor  of  flowers  or  of 
the  foliage  of  trees  would  make  amends  for  the  absence 
of  grass.  Distant  hills  and  plains  may  be  made  beautiful 
by  trees  alone;  but  all  near  grounds  require  this  vel- 
vety covering  to  render  them  grateful  to  the  sight  or 
interesting  to  the  mind,  This  is  the  picturesque  view 
of  the  subject;  but  in  the  eyes  of  a  botanist  grass  is 
almost  infinite  in  its  attractions.  In  every  field  or  pas- 
ture that  offers  its  tender  blades  to  the  grazing  herds, 
there  are  multitudes  of  species,  beside  the  thousands 
of  herbs  and  flowers  and  ferns  and  mosses  which  are 
always  blended  with  them,  and  assist  in  composing  their 
verdure.  What  seems  to  the  eyes  of  a  child  a  mere 
uniform  mass  of  green  is  an  assemblage  of  different 
species  that  would  afford  study  for  a  lifetime.  Grasses, 
though  minute  objects,  are  vast  in  their  assemblages  ;  but 
if  we  reflect  on  the  phenomena  of  nature,  we  shall  not 
consider  the  least  thing  any  less  admirable  than  the 
srreatest.  The  same  amount  of  wonderful  mechanism  is 


62  FOLIAGE. 

indicated  in  a  spear  of  herdsgrass  as  in  the  bamboo  that 
exceeds  in  height  the  trees  of  our  forest ;  and  the  little 
cascade  that  falls  over  the  pebbles  in  our  footpath  is  as 
admirable  to  one  who  regards  it  as  evincing  the  power  of 
nature,  as  the  Falls  of  Niagara. 


THE  TUPELO. 

old  town  of  Bev.-.rlv.  which  was  a  par 
.iheeraofwi 

northern  ; 
and  romanti 
town,  a  pond  f\:-<    \>\    ' 
sen-ed 

with  8V  on  the 
brink  of  this  pond.  It  was  an  ancie;.  and  at- 
tracted the  attention  of  every  visit.-  umn- 
ner  in  which  it  spread  its  lo«.  .t-d  and 

' 


Tlife 
Tnited 


64  THE  TUPELO. 

eccentricities  of  habit.  It  has  received  a  variety  of  names 
in  different  parts  of  the  country,  being  called  "  Swamp 
Hornbeam,"  from  the  toughness  of  its  wood ;  "  Umbrella 
Tree,"  from  a  peculiar  habit  of  some  individuals  to  become 
flattened  and  slightly  convex  at  the  top.  Among  our 
country  people  it  is  known  as  the  "  "Wild  Pear,"  from  a 
fancied  resemblance  between  its  foliage  and  that  of  the 
common  pear-tree.  The  resemblance  seems  to  consist 
only  in  the  size  and  gloss  of  its  leaves.  In  the  Middle 
and  Southern  States  it  is  called  the  "  Sour  Gum,"  to 
distinguish  it  from  the  "  Sweet  Gum,"  or  Liquidawibar. 
The  name  of  Tupelo  was  given  it  by  the  aboriginal  in- 
habitants. 

The  shapes  assumed  by  the  Tupelo  are  exceedingly 
grotesque,  though  it  is  frequently  as  regular  in  its  growth 
as  our  most  symmetrical  trees.  It  is  sometimes  quite 
erect,  extending  its  branches  horizontally  and  pretty 
equally  on  all  sides,  but  generally  forming  a  more  or 
less  flattened  top.  More  frequently  the  Tupelo  displays 
no  symmetry  of  any  kind,  extending  its  branches  mostly 
on  one  side,  and  often  putting  forth  two  or  three  branches 
greatly  beyond  all  the  others.  Many  of  these  are  con- 
siderably twisted,  inclining  downward  from  a  horizon- 
tal position,  not  with  a  curve  like  those  of  the  elm,  but 
straight,  like  those  of  the  spruce,  though  without  any  of 
its  formality.  The  spray  is  very  different  from  that  of 
other  trees.  Every  important  branch  is  covered  all  round, 
at  top,  bottom,  and  sides,  with  short  twigs,  at  right  angles 
with  the  branch.  Some  of  the  swamp  oaks  resemble  the 
Tupelo  in  fantastic  shape,  but  they  never  have  a  flattened 
top. 

The  Tupelo  is  the  very  opposite  of  the  ash  in  its  gen- 
eral characters ;  the  one  is  precisely  regular  in  its  habits, 
the  other  eccentric  and  grotesque.  The  leaves  and  small 
branches  of  the  ash  are  opposite,  those  of  the  Tupelo  alter- 


THE  HOKNBEAM.  65 

nate;  the  one  has  a  coarse,  the  other  a  finely  divided 
spray :  so  that  there  are  no  two  trees  of  the  forest  so  en- 
tirely unlike.  It  is  remarkable  that  an  isolated  situation, 
which  is  favorable  to  symmetry  and  good  proportions  in 
other  trees,  increases  the  specific  peculiarities  of  the  Tu- 
pelo. If  it  has  stood  alone  and  sent  forth  its  branches 
without  restraint,  it  then  displays  the  most  grotesque 
irregularity,  showing  that  its  normal  habit  of  growth  is 
eccentric. 

The  foliage  of  the  Tupelo  is  remarkable  for  its  fine 
glossy  verdure.  The  leaves  are  oval,  narrowing  toward 
the  stem  and  rounded  at  the  extremity.  The  flowers  are 
greenish  and  inconspicuous,  borne  in  minute  umbels  on 
the  end  of  a  long  peduncle.  They  produce  small  berries 
of  a  deep  blue  color,  containing  a  hard  stone.  This  tree 
is  one  of  the  brightest  ornaments  of  our  forest  in  autumn  ; 
the  fine  green  color  of  its  foliage  attracts  our  attention  in 
summer,  and  in  winter  its  grotesque  forms,  rising  out  of 
the  shallow  meres,  yield  a  romantic  interest  to  these  soli- 
tary places.  It  is  not  well  adapted  to  dressed  grounds, 
but  harmonizes  only  with  rude,  desolate,  and  wild  scenery. 


THE  HORNBEAM. 

THE  Hornbeams,  of  which  in  New  England  there  are 
two  species  belonging  to  a  different  genus,  are  small  trees, 
rather  elegant  in  their  shape,  and  remarkable  for  the 
toughness  and  hardness  of  their  wood.  The  American 
Hornbeam,  or  Blue  Beech,  is  distinguished  by  its  fluted 
trunk,  which,  as  Emerson  describes  it,  "  is  a  short  irregular 
pillar,  not  unlike  the  massive  reeded  columns  of  Egyptian 
architecture,  with  projecting  ridges,  which  run  down  from 
each  side  of  the  lower  branches.  The  branches  are  irreg- 


66  THE  HOP  HORNBEAM. 

ular,  waving  or  crooked,  going  out  at  various  but  large 
angles,  and  usually  from  a  low  point  on  its  trunk."  Old 
Gerard  remarks  concerning  the  English  Hornbeam :  "  The 
wood  or  timber  is  better  for  arrows  and  shafts,  pulleys  for 
mills,  and  such  like  devices,  than  elm  or  witch-hazel ;  for 
in  time  it  waxeth  so  hard  that  the  toughness  and  hard- 
ness of  it  may  rather  be  compared  to  horn  than  to  wood ; 
and  therefore  it  was  called  Hornbeam." 

The  foliage  of  the  American  Hornbeam  resembles  that 
of  black  birch,  neatly  corrugated,  of  a  delicate  verdure  in 
summer,  and  assuming  a  fine  tint  of  varying  crimson  and 
scarlet  in  the  autumn.  The  name  of  Blue  Beech  was  ap- 
plied to  it  from  the  similarity  of  its  branches  to  the  com- 
mon beech-tree,  while  their  surface  is  bluish  instead  of 
an  ashen  color.  Though  existing  in  every  part  of  the 
country,  it  is  not  abundant  anywhere,  and  is  not  in  any 
tract  of  woodland  the  principal  timber.  It  is  most  con- 
spicuous on  the  borders  of  woods,  by  the  sides  of  roads 
lately  constructed.  The .  scarcity  of  trees  of  this  species 
near  old  roadsides  has  been  caused  by  the  value  of  their 
timber,  which  is  cut  for  mechanical  purposes  wherever  it 
may  be  found.  The  wood  of  this  tree  is  used  for  levers, 
for  the  spokes  of  wheels,  and  for  nearly  all  other  purposes 
which  require  extreme  hardness  of  the  material  used. 


THE  HOP  HORNBEAM. 

THE  Hop  Hornbeam  is  a  very  different  tree  from  the 
one  just  described,  resembling  it  only  in  the  toughness 
of  its  wood,  whence  the  name  of  Lever- Wood  has  been 
very  generally  applied  to  it.  This  tree  is  rarely  seen  by 
the  wayside.  Those  only  know  it  whose  occupation  has 
led  them  to  seek  it  for  its  service  in  the  arts,  or  those 


THE   HOP   HOKNBEAM.  67 

who  have  examined  it  in  their  botanical  rambles.  It  is  a 
small  tree,  that  affects  the  habit  of  the  elm  in  its  general 
appearance,  of  the  birch  in  its  inflorescence,  and  of  the 
beech  in  the  upward  tendency  of  its  small  branches.  It 
is  so  much  like  the  elm  in  the  style  of  its  foliage,  in  the 
fine  division  and  length  of  its  slender  spray,  and  in  the 
color  and  appearance  of  its  bark,  that  it  might  easily  be 
mistaken  for  a  small  elm,  without  any  of  its  drooping 
habit.  It  does  not,  like  the  elm,  however,  break  into 
any  eccentric  modes  of  growth.  A  striking  peculiarity 
of  this  tree  is  the  multitude  of  hop-like  capsular  heads 
that  contain  the  seeds. 


INSECURITY  OF  OUE  FORESTS. 

THE  American  continent  is  so  vast,  and  so  large  a  part 
of  it  is  still  covered  with  wood,  that  men  are  not  ready  to 
believe  there  is  any  danger  of  exterminating  its  forests. 
Supposing  them  to  be  inexhaustible,  they  are  entirely 
indiscriminate  in  their  method  of  clearing  them,  and 
treat  them  as  if  they  were  of  no  importance  further  than 
they  subserve  the  present  wants  of  the  community. 
They  are  either  reckless  or  ignorant  of  their  indispen- 
sable uses  in  the  economy  of  nature,  and  seem  purposely 
to  shut  their  eyes  to  facts  and  principles  in  relation  to 
them  which  are  well  known  to  men  of  science.  Our 
people  look  upon  the  forests  as  valuable  only  so  far  as 
they  supply  material  for  the  arts  and  for  fuel,  for  the  con- 
struction of  houses,  ships,  and  public  works  ;  and  as  there 
is  not  much  danger  of  immediately  exhausting  the  sup- 
plies for  these  purposes,  the  public  mind  remains  quiet, 
while  certain  operations  are  going  forward  which,  if  not  soon 
checked  by  some  very  powerful  restraint,  will,  before  the 
lapse  of  another  century,  reduce  half  this  wide  continent 
to  a  desert.  The  science  of  vegetable  meteorology  de- 
serves more  consideration  than  it  has  yet  received  from 
our  professors  of  learning.  This,  if  fully  explained,  would 
teach  men  some  of  the  fearful  consequences  that  would 
ensue  if  a  country  were  entirely  disrobed  of  its  forests, 
and  their  relations  to  birds,  insects,  and  quadrupeds  would 
explain  the  impossibility  of  ever  restoring  them.  Man 
has  the  power,  which,  if  exercised  without  regard  to  the 
laws  of  nature,  may,  at  no  very  distant  period,  render  this 


INSECURITY   OF   OUE   FORESTS.  69 

earth  uninhabitable  by  man.  In  his  eagerness  to  im- 
prove his  present  condition,  and  his  senseless  grasp  for 
immediate  advantages,  he  may  disqualify  the  earth  for  a 
human  abode. 

This  matter  has  been  strangely  overlooked  by  legisla- 
tors in  the  several  States,  though  frequently  discussed  by 
naturalists  and  philosophical  writers.  In  spite  of  the 
warnings  the  people  have  received  from  learned  men,  very 
little  thought  has  been  given  to  the  subject.  How  few 
persons  suspect  that  in  less  than  a  century  the  greatest 
affliction  this  country  is  doomed  to  suffer  may  be  caused 
by  the  destruction  of  its  forests  !  Springs  once  full  all 
the  year  will  be  dry  every  summer  and  autumn ;  small 
rivers  will  desert  their  channels ;  once  profitable  mill- 
privileges  will  cease  to  be  of  any  value ;  every  shower 
will  produce  inundations  ;  every  summer  will  be  subject 
to  pernicious  droughts.  The  preservation  of  the  forests 
in  a  certain  ratio  over  our  whole  territory  ought  to  be  the 
subject  of  immediate  legislation  in  all  the  States.  It  is 
not  a  part  of  the  plan  of  this  work,  however,  to  treat  of 
woods  as  a  subject  of  political  economy,  but  rather  to 
prompt  our  wise  men  to  protect  them  by  statute,  by  show- 
ing our  dependence  on  them  for  our  existence. 

It  has  been  said  that  the  intelligence  of  an  educated 
and  civilized  community  like  our  own  ought  to  save  the 
country  from  this  evil.  But  it  is  our  civilization  that 
has  created  the  very  danger  that  threatens  us.  A  coun- 
try, while  it  remains  in  the  possession  of  barbarians,  is 
never  disforested.  It  is  a  false  assurance  that  the  general 
intelligence  of  the  community  will  secure  them  from  this 
danger,  unless  they  have  studied  the  causes  of  it.  A  lit- 
erary and  even  a  scientific  education,  as  popularly  con- 
ducted, does  not  imply  any  great  amount  of  this  kind  of 
knowledge.  The  intelligence  of  our  people  would  un- 
doubtedly prepare  them  to  understand  the  subject  when 


70  INSECURITY  OF  OUR  FORESTS. 

explained  to  them  by  some  one  who  has  made  it  his 
special  study;  but  reading  does  not  acquaint  a  person 
with  facts  contained  only  in  books  which  he  never 
reads,  though  his  habit  of  reading  only  for  amusement 
may  keep  him  ignorant  of  many  things  which  he  would 
otherwise  learn  from  observation.  The  subject  of  this 
essay  is  not  sufficiently  exciting  to  obtain  a  hearing  from 
the  public  in  a  lecture-room.  Every  avenue  of  popular 
information  is  so  greatly  obstructed  by  objects  designed 
only  to  afford  amusement,  that  science  and  philosophy, 
save  those  branches  which  some  eloquent  work  has  ren- 
dered fashionable,  have  but  very  little  chance  to  be  heard. 
Even  among  our  literary  classes,  if  you  speak  of  trees  and 
woods,  there  is  only  an  occasional  individual  of  eccentric 
habits  who  seems  capable  of  taking  any  other  than  an 
SBsthetic  view  of  their  relations  to  human  wants. 

But  it  will  be  said,  if  a  liberal  education  does  not  sup- 
ply men  with  the  right  kind  of  knowledge  on  this  point, 
certainly  our  practiced  men  will  understand  it.  They, 
I  admit,  would  see  at  once  how  much  money  could  be 
made  by  cutting  down  all  the  trees  in  any  given  tract  of 
forest ;  but  they  are  not  the  men  to  be  consulted  respect- 
ing the  advantage  of  any  scheme  that  does  not  promise 
to  be  a  profitable  investment  of  capital.  Our  practical 
men  are  the  very  individuals  from  whose  venal  hands 
it  is  necessary  to  protect  our  forests  by  legislation.  In 
France,  where  great  evils  have  followed  the  destruction 
of  woods,  laws  have  been  enacted  for  restoring  and  pre- 
serving them  in  certain  situations.  These  laws,  how- 
ever, originated,  not  with  practical  men,  but  with  Napo- 
leon III.,  who  obtained  his  views  from  men  of  science. 
Our  people  have  less  knowledge  of  this  subject  than  the 
Europeans,  who  have  been  compelled  to  study  it  by  the 
presence  of  evils  which  the  Americans  are  just  beginning 
to  experience. 


INSECURITY   OF  OUR  FORESTS.  71 

The  sentiment  of  the  American  public  seems  to  have 
been  excited  in  favor  of  trees  individually  considered, 
rather  than  forests.  People  look  upon  trees  as  their 
friends  ;  and  more  indignation  is  generally  caused  by  the 
felling  of  a  single  large  tree  standing  in  an  open  field  or 
by  the  roadside,  than  by  the  destruction  of  whole  acres 
of  woods.  Our  love  of  trees  is  a  sort  of  passion;  but 
we  need  yet  to  learn  that  a  wood  on  a  steep  hillside  is 
of  more  importance  than  as  many  standards  as  there  are 
trees  in  the  same  wood,  scattered  upon  a  plain.  This  aes- 
thetic sentiment  seems  to  be  the  only  conservative  prin- 
ciple that  has  yet  produced  any  considerable  effect  in  pre- 
serving trees  and  groves.  It  often  extends  to  groups  of 
trees,  and  sometimes  to  large  assemblages,  especially  on 
estates  which  have  remained  through  several  generations 
in  the  possession  of  one  family.  But  generally  the  ava- 
rice or  the  necessity  of  our  farmers  has  been  more  power- 
ful to  devastate,  than  the  taste  and  sentiment  of  others 
to  preserve  our  woods. 

I  have  long  been  persuaded  that,  unless  the  governments 
of  the  several  States  should  make  this  a  subject  of  special 
legislation,  the  security  of  our  forests  must  depend  on 
men  of  large  property  in  land.  Men  of  wealth,  if  not 
learned,  are  generally  in  communication  with  men  of 
learning,  from  whom  they  may  obtain  a  knowledge  of 
vegetable  meteorology,  and  not  being  obliged,  by  pecuni- 
ary necessity,  to  cut  down  their  woods,  will,  from  a  sense 
of  their  importance  in  the  economy  of  nature,  become 
their  preservers.  The  wealth  and  taste  of  certain  fami- 
lies in  every  town  and  village  will  save  a  great  many  trees, 
groves,  and  fragments  of  forest.  But  if  our  law-makers 
neglect  to  legislate  for  this  end,  we  must  look  to  the  pos- 
sessors of  immense  estates,  the  lords  of  whole  townships, 
for  the  preservation  of  any  large  tracts  of  forest. 

There  is  a  sentimental  theory  of  political  economy  that 


72  INSECURITY  OF   OUR  FORESTS. 

condemns  large  estates,  which,  if  divided  into  small  farms, 
would  support  a  greater  number  of  human  beings.  In- 
deed, the  question  is  very  difficult  to  answer,  how  large  a 
proportion  of  the  territory  of  any  country  may  be  kept 
in  forest  consistently  with  the  greatest  amount  of  agricul- 
tural prosperity.  But  he  who  believes  that  every  acre  of 
waste  land  is  so  much  drawback  upon  national  wealth 
must  have  very  imperfect  views  of  nature's  economy. 
Even  if  our  continent  were  circumscribed  within  bounds 
as  narrow  as  those  of  Great  Britain's  isle,  the  woods  ought 
to  be  preserved  to  a  certain  extent,  though  they  might 
check  the  increase  of  our  population.  The  superfluous 
lands  of  the  British  nobility  have  saved  their  country 
from  many  evils  that  could  not  have  been  foreseen  when 
their  estates  were  originally  divided.  The  very  selfish- 
ness of  princes  and  lords  has  prevented  the  extirpation 
of  European  forests.  If,  two  centuries  ago,  England  had 
been  parcelled  out  to  the  people  in  farms  of  one  hundred 
acres,  there  would  hardly  be  a  tree  remaining  at  the  pres- 
ent time,  certainly  not  a  forest  in  the  whole  island. 

To  assist  in  calling  attention  to  the  importance  of  our 
forests,  I  have  devoted  a  considerable  number  of  these 
essays  to  the  science  of  vegetable  meteorology.  I  shall 
treat,  under  its  several  heads,  of  the  uses  of  trees  in  pre- 
serving a  general  fulness  of  streams,  and  an  equal  supply 
of  moisture  to  all  parts  of  the  surface  ;  for  sustaining  the 
vitality  of  the  atmosphere,  and  for  charging  it  with  vapor, 
thereby  increasing  the  frequency  of  showers  and  pre- 
venting long-continued  droughts.  Considering  them  also 
as  electric  agents,  I  shall  mark  the  importance  of  a  cer- 
tain disposition  of  them  to  prevent  showers  from  being 
wasted  upon  the  ocean  and  large  inland  collections  of 
water.  I  shall  speak  of  their  rektions  to  temperature 
and  climate,  to  show  in  what  manner  the  clearing  of  the 
forest  may  ameliorate,  and  how,  on  the  other  hand,  it  may 


INSECURITY  OF  OUR  FORESTS.          73 

ruin,  the  climate  of  any  country,  whether  of  large  or  small 
extent.  It  will  appear  that  even  the  soil  in  many  situa- 
tions has  been  actually  created  by  the  forest  that  stands 
upon  it,  and  that  it  can  only  be  preserved  by  its  continu- 
ance. Lastly,  I  shall  prove  that  the  woods  in  their  wild 
state,  and  with  their  undergrowth,  are  the  cause  of  pre- 
serving our  fields  and  gardens  from  the  over-multiplica- 
tion of  insects,  by  affording  a  harbor  to  the  birds,  without 
whose  services,  in  the  economy  of  nature,  the  human 
race  would  become  extinct. 


ORCHAED  TREES. 

THE  orchard  trees,  though  but  few  of  them  are  in- 
digenous, constitute  one  of  the  most  important  groups, 
considered  as  objects  of  beauty,  to  say  nothing  of  their 
utility.  The  most  of  this  class  of  trees  belong  to  the 
natural  order  of  rosaceous  plants,  among  which  are  some 
of  the  fairest  ornaments  of  Northern  climes.  Such  are 
the  cherry,  the  peach,  the  apple,  the  pear,  also  the  moun- 
tain ash  and  its  allied  species  down  to  the  mespilus  and 
hawthorn.  These  trees  are  suggestive  of  the  farm  and  its 
pleasant  appurtenances,  rather  than  of  rude  nature ;  but 
so  closely  allied  is  Nature  to  the  farm,  when  under  the 
care  of  a  simple  tiller  of  the  soil,  and  unbedizened  by 
taste,  that  its  accompaniments  seem  a  rightful  part  of 
her  domain.  The  simplicity  of  the  rustic  farm  is  in  con- 
sonance with  the  fresh,  glowing  charms  of  Nature  her- 
self. A  row  of  apple-trees  overshadowing  the  wayside 
forms  an  arbor  in  which  the  rural  deities  might  revel  as 
in  their  own  sylvan  retreats ;  and  Nature  wears  a  more 
charming  appearance,  when  to  her  own  rude  costume  she 
adds  a  wreath  twined  by  the  rosy  fingers  of  Pomona. 

The  flowers  of  the  orchard  trees  are  invariably  white 
or  crimson,  oj  different  shades  of  these  two  colors  com- 
bined. Those  of  the  cherry-tree  and  the  plum-tree  are 
constantly  white ;  those  of  the  pear-tree  are  also  white, 
with  brown  or  purple  anthers ;  those  of  the  peach  and 
apricot  are  crimson;  those  of  the  apple-tree  and  quince- 
tree,  when  half  expanded,  are  crimson,  changing  to  white 
or  blush-color  as  they  expand.  The  colors  of  the  haw- 


ORCHARD   TREES.  75 

thorn  vary,  according  to  their  species,  which  are  numer- 
ous, from  white  to  pure  crimson.  Only  a  few  of  the 
orchard  trees  have  been  cultivated  for  their  flowers  alone  ; 
among  these  we  find  a  species  of  cherry  with  double 
flowers,  and  a  double-flowering  almond,  which  are  com- 
mon in  flower-beds.  The  Virginia  crab-apple  is  also 
planted  for  the  fragrance  and  beauty  of  its  flowers ;  and 
if  the  Siberian  species  had  no  material  value,  it  would  be 
cultivated  for  the  beauty  of  its  fruit. 

As  I  have  frequently  remarked,  Nature  is  not  lavish  of 
those  forms  and  hues  that  constitute  pure  organic  beauty. 
She  displays  them  very  sparingly  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, that  we  may  not  be  wearied  by  their  stimulus, 
and  thereby  lose  our  susceptibility  to  agreeable  impres- 
sions from  homely  objects.  But  at  certain  times  and 
during  very  short  periods  she  seems  to  exert  all  her 
powers  to  fascinate  the  senses.  It  is  when  in  these  moods 
that  she  wreathes  the  trees  with  flowers  for  a  short  time 
in  the  spring,  and  just  before  the  coming  of  winter  illu- 
mines the  forest  with  colors  as  beautiful  as  they  are 
evanescent. 

The  APPLE-TREE  was  one  of  the  first  trees  planted  by 
the  original  settlers  of  New  England,  who  could  not  in 
the  wilderness  raise  those  fruits  that  require  the  skill 
of  the  gardener.  This  tree  is  indigenous  in  all  parts  of 
Europe,  Northern  Asia,  and  North  America.  On  this 
continent  are  found  two  native  species,  of  which  the  Vir- 
ginia Crab  is  the  only  important  one.  This  tree  bears  a 
small  green  fruit,  agreeable,  odoriferous,  and  intensely 
acid ;  but  our  attention  is  chiefly  attracted  by  its  rose- 
colored  flowers,  that  perfume  the  whole  atmosphere  with 
a  sweetness  not  surpassed  by  that  of  the  rose.  Nothing 
in  the  world  can  exceed  the  purity  of  this  fragrance, 
which,  in  connection  with  its  beautiful  flowers,  borne  in 


76  ORCHARD  TREES. 

large  clusters,  render  it  the  admiration  of  all.  The  lover 
of  nature  is  delighted  to  find  this  species  in  a  perfectly 
unsophisticated  state,  and  unimproved  by  culture,  which 
always  tends  to  insipidity.  The  Druids  paid  great  rever- 
ence to  the  apple-tree,  because  the  mistletoe  grew  upon 
it.  In  our  own  fields  it  is  free  from  this  parasite,  which 
is  not  found  on  the  western  continent  above  the  latitude 
of  Virginia. 

The  apple-tree  bears  some  resemblance  to  the  oak  in 
its  general  outlines,  displaying,  though  inferior  in  size, 
more  sturdiness  than  grace.  A  standard  apple-tree  com- 
monly resembles  a  hemisphere,  often  in  diameter  ex- 
ceeding its  own  height.  This  shape  might  be  caused  by 
training ;  but  the  gardener,  by  cutting  off  certain  branches, 
does  not  change  the  tendency  of  the  tree  to  assume  its 
normal  shape.  The  foliage  of  the  apple-tree  is  rather 
coarse,  stiff,  and  inelegant,  and  deficient  in  purity  of 
verdure,  being  after  it  is  fully  developed  of  a  dusky 
green,  and  without  tints  when  ripened,  save  what  may 
be  termed  accidental  There  is,  nevertheless,  a  certain 
kind  of  beauty  in  an  old  apple-tree  which  is  seen  in  no 
other  of  the  orchard  trees,  rendering  it  a  very  picturesque 
object  in  rustic  scenery. 

The  PEAR-TREE  is  taller  than  the  apple-tree,  assuming 
an  imperfectly  pyramidal  shape.  Its  branches  have  not 
the  horizontal  tendency  of  the  latter ;  but  when  growing 
singly  as  a  standard  it  greatly  surpasses  it  in  dimen- 
sions, and  many  individuals  of  a  former  age,  that  have 
escaped  the  axe  of  horticultural  improvement,  are  noble 
standards,  and  of  no  inferior  merit  as  shade-trees.  The 
foliage  of  the  pear-tree  displays  some  of  the  tremulous 
habit  of  the  aspen,  owing  to  the  length  and  slenderness 
of  its  leaf-stems.  It  has,  moreover,  a  gloss  that  distin- 
guishes it  from  that  of  the  apple-tree ;  it  is  also  less 


OECHARD   TREES.  77 

stubborn  in  retaining  its  verdure,  and  partially  tinted 
in  autumn.  The  pear-trees  which  have  been  raised 
within  the  last  thirty  years  are  mostly  dwarfed,  and 
seldom  display  their  normal  shape.  They  are  small,  with 
straggling  branches,  and  unworthy  of  consideration  in  a 
treatise  of  this  kind.  The  old  standards,  still  occasion- 
ally seen  in  pastures  and  fallow  lands,  are  the  only  ones 
that  affect  the  beauty  of  landscape.  I  have  mentioned 
several  points  in  which  the  pear-tree  surpasses  the  apple- 
tree  as  a  beautiful  and  stately  object ;  but  its  fruit  will 
bear  no  comparison  in  beauty  with  that  of  the  apple-tree, 
which  produces  a  greater  -variety  of  beautiful  fruit  than 
any  other  tree  that  is  known. 

The  QUINCE-TREE,  though  inferior  in  size,  and  not  pros- 
pering very  well  on  the  soil  of  New  England,  which  is 
rather  too  cold  for  it,  deserves  a  passing  remark.  In 
botanical  characters  it  bears  more  resemblance  to  the  pear 
than  to  the  apple.  The  fruit  has  the  same  tender  and 
mucilaginous  core ;  the  seeds  are  not  enclosed  in  a  dry  hull, 
like  those  of  the  apple ;  and  the  pulp  of  the  quince,  like 
that  of  the  pear,  is  granulated,  while  that  of  the  apple 
displays  in  its  texture  a  finer  and  firmer  organization.  I 
may  add  the  well-known  fact  that  the  pear  may  be  grafted 
upon  a  quince  stock,  while  no  such  union  can  be  effected 
between  the  apple  and  the  quince,  or  the  apple  and  the 
pear.  The  quince-tree  makes  a  very  elegant  appearance, 
both  when  covered  with  its  large  white  and  crimson- 
stained,  flowers,  and  when  laden  with  its  golden  Hespe- 
rian fruit. 

'••'  > 

The  PLUM-TREE,  in  connection  with  the  orchard,  hardly 
deserves  mention ;  but  there  are  two  indigenous  species 
which  in  some  places  are  conspicuous  objects  in  our  fields. 
The  beach-plum  requires  no  description.  It  is  a  low 


78  ORCHARD   TREES. 

shrub,  very  common  on  many  parts  of  the  New  England 
coast  and  on  the  islands  around  it.  There  is  nothing  re- 
markable in  its  appearance  or  in  the  beauty  of  its  fruit, 
which  is  of  a  dark-blue  color  and  about  the  size  of  dam- 
sons. The  other  species  is  a  tree  of  considerable  size, 
which  is  very  beautiful  when  covered  with  its  ripe  scarlet 
berries.  In  the  State  of  Maine  they  are  called  "plum- 
granates,"  and  are  very  generally  used  for  culinary  pur- 


The  PEACH-TREE,  of  all  the  tenants  of  the  garden  and 
orchard,  is  the  most  beautiful  when  in  flower,  varying  in 
the  color  of  its  bloom  from  a  delicate  blush  to  a  light 
crimson.  As  it  puts  forth  its  flowers  before  the  leaves, 
the  tree  presents  to  view  the  likeness  of  a  magnificent 
bouquet.  When  covering  many  acres  of  ground,  nothing 
in  nature  can  surpass  it  in  splendor,  flowering,  as  it  does, 
sooner  than  almost  any  other  tree.  Even  in  New  England, 
where  these  trees  are  now  seen  only  in  occasional  groups, 
they  constitute  an  important  object  in  the  landscape,  when 
in  flower.  Few  persons  are  aware  how  much  interest  the 
peach-tree  adds  to  the  landscape  in  early  spring,  by  its 
suggestions  as  well  as  its  beauty.  Since  the  changeable- 
ness  of  our  winter  and  the  harshness  of  our  spring  weather 
have  been  aggravated  by  the  destruction  of  our  Northern 
forests,  the  peach-tree  is  so  liable  to  perish  that  its  cul- 
tivation has  been  neglected,  and  trees  of  this  species 
are  now  very  scarce  in  New  England,  except  in  the  gar- 
dens of  wealthy  men.  We  no  longer  meet  them  as  for- 
merly in  our  journeyings  through  rustic  farms,  when 
they  were  interspersed  among  apple-trees,  adorning  every 
by-way  in  the  country. 


WAYSIDE  SHKUBBERY. 

THERE  are  some  persons  in  the  world  whose  ideas  of 
beauty  run  almost  entirely  into  waving  lines,  smoothness, 
and  rotundity.  They  cannot  bear  to  see  anything  in  land- 
scape that  does  not  convey  the  sentiment  of  costly  dress- 
ing and  ornamentation.  In  their  sight  nothing  is  so 
beautiful  as  a  well -trimmed  hedge -row,  or  a  nicely  painted 
fence.  They  abhor  any  appearance  of  rudeness  about  their 
grounds,  or  anything  that  is  not  an  evidence  of  wealth  and 
"  aesthetic  culture  " ;  believing  that  the  more  completely 
Nature  is  subdued  by  Art,  the  more  credit  she  reflects  upon 
her  owner !  They  regard  Nature  as  they  do  their  horse, 
and  believe,  if  she  can  be  made  to  look  sleek  and  plump, 
they  have  fully  carried  out  one  of  the  beneficent  designs 
of  Providence,  whom  they  regard  as  the  great  teacher 
of  aesthetics ! 

Unfortunate  are  the  picturesque  old  roads  that  fall 
under  the  management  of  this  class  of  men,  when  em- 
ployed as  surveyors  of  the  highways.  In  their  view, 
no  spontaneous  production  of  nature  should  remain 
there,  except  the  gravel.  Not  even  a  tree  must  be  tol- 
erated, unless  it  was  planted  there  by  human  hands. 
All  wild  growths  of  shrubbery  are  condemned  to  perish. 
If  a  by-road  be  embroidered  with  a  charming  variety 
of  native  shrubs  and  herbaceous  plants,  at  one  season 
adorned  with  flowers,  at  another  with  fruits,  and  at  all 
times  with  foliage,  they  send  the  plough  directly  into 
this  mass,  to  carry  out  their  ideas  of  neatness  and  smooth- 
ness, and  to  expel  Nature  as  if  she  were  a  Gorgon  or  a 
Hydra. 


80  WAYSIDE   SHKUBBERY. 

The  passers  on  this  by-road  formerly  wended  their 
way  along  a  footpath,  through  its  various  shrubbery; 
and  the  children  of  the  village,  as  they  went  to  school 
and  returned,  would  often  linger  here  to  gather  flowers  and 
fruit,  sitting  down  upon  some  green  tussock,  under  the 
shady  protection  of  half-grown  trees,  which  had  come  up 
without  planting.  They  watched  the  viburnum,  with  its 
circular  cymes  of  white  flowers,  succeeded  by  blue,  white, 
and  purple  berries ;  the  wild  roses  that  clustered  there 
in  June,  and  the  glycine  that  festooned  the  thickets  with 
dark  flowers  in  August.  They  admired  the  charming 
negligence  of  these  growths,  some  with  upright  stems 
supporting  the  twining  convolvulus,  interwoven  with  the 
dark-blue  flowers  of  the  woody  nightshade,  and  others 
climbing  overhead  and  forming  an  arbor  for  a  summer 
noonday.  The  surveyor  and  his  gang  have  spoiled  the 
footpath,  and  destroyed  the  bushes  with  their  flowers  and 
fruit ;  and  children  no  less  than  birds  lament  this  destruc- 
tion of  their  pleasant  wayside  haunts.  Ever  since  my 
boyhood  have  these  vandals  of  the  roads  been  deservedly 
cursed  as  the  despoilers  of  nature,  and  the  clumsy  agents 
of  tasteful  imposture. 

There  is  another  class  of  despoilers  who  pursue  their 
operations  as  private  citizens.  They  are  generally  "  model 
farmers,"  —  men  who  think  that  nature  should  be  made 
subservient  to  labor,  and  labor  to  capital.  If  you  stroll 
along  by  the  estates  of  these  industrious  vandals,  you 
will  be  struck  with  the  baldness  and  nakedness  of 
the  borders  of  their  fields.  Not  a  shrub  nor  a  vine  can 
with  impunity  lift  its  head  above  the  ground  on  either 
side  of  their  fences,  and  a  squirrel  that  should  venture 
near  them  would  be  hunted  like  an  adder.  We  may 
distinguish  the  possessions  of  these  model  farmers  by 
observing,  as  we  pass  by,  their  singular  blankness,  such 
as  you  observe  in  the  face  of  an  overfed  idiot.  Their 


WAYSIDE   SHRUBBERY.  81 

Nature  is  a  young  damsel  with  her  hair  tied  up  in  knots 
and  papers,  as  distinguished  from  one  whose  tresses  hang 
down  her  neck  in  careless  freedom. 

They  will  tell  you  that  wild  shrubbery  harbors  vermin/ 
and  that  its  intricacy  affords  them  shelter,  which  is  not 
provided  by  a  formal  hedge-row.  But  if  it  harbors  in- 
sects, it  protects  also  the  birds  that  feed  upon  them ;  if 
it  causes  the  multiplication  of  small  quadrupeds,  it  sup- 
plies also  the  mast  that  sustains  them.  In  proportion  as 
the  thicket  has  been  eradicated  from  the  borders  of  fields 
and  waysides,  the  insects  that  destroy  our  crops  have  in- 
creased ;  for  the  birds  that  once  found  protection  within 
it  have  fled  to  distant  places,  and  left  the  insects  to  com- 
mit their  ravages  unmolested. 

There  is  a  certain  kind  of  beauty  in  high  cultivation ; 
there  is  still  more  in  neatness  and  simplicity;  there  is 
even  a  sort  of  relative  beauty  in  baldness,  when  it  is 
plainly  necessary  to  make  a  free  and  convenient  passage 
for  a  constantly  moving  crowd.  There  is  no  man  who 
cannot  appreciate  the  beauty  of  a  well-tilled  farm,  nor  is 
there  one  who  would  prefer  rubbish  and  litter  to  neatly 
dressed  paths  and  borders.  But  if  it  be  a  question 
whether  the  perfect  smoothness  and  baldness  of  a  grav- 
elled walk,  weeded  of  every  bush  and  herb,  is  more  in- 
teresting than  the  rustic  negligence  of  another  walk, 
covered  with  a  variety  of  shrubs  and  vines,  and  inter- 
sected by  a  footpath  worn  by  the  feet  of  men  and  ani- 
mals, there  are  but  few,  even  among  the  most  sordid,  who 
would  not  prefer  the  neglected  pathway.  For  is  it  nothing 
to  us  that  the  singing-birds  should  find  a  bushy  knoll  to 
nestle  in,  or  a  leafy  perch  to  rest  upon  when  they  sing 
to  the  passing  traveller?  Is  it  nothing  to  us  that  we 
may  gather  a  few  violets  under  a  hazel-bush  for  the  little 
child  we  lead  by  the  hand  ?  Is  it  nothing  to  the  young 
maiden  that  she  can  loiter  by  the  roadside,  in  quest  of 


82  WAYSIDE   SHRUBBERY. 

wild-flowers,  instead  of  roaming  in  distant  fields,  where 
she  dares  not  venture  unprotected  ? 

On  those  by-roads  where  there  is  but  little  passing, 
•all  kinds  of  native  shrubs  are  more  valuable,  as  well  as 
more  beautiful,  than  anything  that  could  be  put  in  their 
place.  Especially  in  the  borders  of  fields  near  the  town 
are  these  spontaneous  growths,  with  their  grassy  turf 
embossed  with  wild-flowers,  needful  for  the  protection  of 
birds  that  live  in  shrubbery,  and  not  in  trees,  and  will  not 
accept  the  bushes  of  the  garden  because  they  have  no 
tangled  undergrowth.  Insects,  in  the  different  stages  of 
their  existence,  multiply  with  the  increase  of  tillage ;  for 
every  fertilizer  that  is  mixed  with  the  soil  renders  it 
more  productive  of  vermin.  Birds,  which  are  the  natural 
checks  to  the  over-multiplication  of  insects,  would  be- 
come more  numerous  in  proportion  to  the  increased  sup- 
ply of  their  insect  food,  if  there  was  a  harbor  for  them 
in  the  vicinity.  A  great  number  of  small  birds,  all  of 
which,  not  excepting  the  granivorous  species,  feed  their 
young  with  larvae,  are  exiled  by  the  want  of  border 
shrubbery.  The  catbird,  an  inveterate  consumer  of  in- 
sects, second  only  to  the  robin  in  usefulness  to  the  farmer, 
will  become  very  familiar,  and  build  in  our  gardens,  if 
supplied  with  a  plenty  of  wild  thicket  to  yield  it  that 
seclusion  that  suits  its  temper  and  habits.  Birds  of 
every  species  prefer  a  certain  description  of  shrubs  or 
trees  for  a  resort ;  and  how  great  soever  their  supply 
of  food,  if  no  woods  or  thickets  are  near  to  afford  them 
a  harbor  and  a  nursery  for  their  young,  they  will  leave 
it  untasted.  Any  man  who  owns  an  acre  of  land  might 
gather  round  it  nearly  every  species  of  our  small  birds 
by  a  very  little  sacrifice  of  space,  which  is  to  be  filled 
with  the  wildings  of  nature. 

A  formal  clipped  hedge-row  affords  the  birds  no  such 
shelter  nor  seclusion.  Why  an  ugly  mass  of  sticks,  with 


WAYSIDE   SHRUBBERY.  83 

a  few  leaves  on  the  outside,  should  be  preferred  to  a 
beautiful  growth  of  wildings,  cherished  upon  a  natural 
sod,  is  no  less  wonderful  than  the  "mystery  of  godli- 
ness." As  ornaments  to  the  landscape,  shrubs  are  of  no 
secondary  importance.  While  trees  afford  grandeur  to  the 
distant  prospect,  the  beauty  of  a  near  prospect  is  greatly 
dependent  on  shrubbery.  A  rocky  and  uneven  surface, 
covered  by  trees  alone,  would  not  affect  the  mind  with  so 
many  agreeable  impressions  as  when  combined  with  their 
undergrowth.  When  we  are  journeying,  the  wild  shrubs 
that  skirt  the  waysides,  and  hang  their  foliage,  fruit,  and 
flowers  over  the  walls  and  fences,  add  a  beauty  and  in- 
terest to  the  scenes  of  our  journey  not  equalled  in  any 
respect  by  the  cultivated  exotics  in  the  spaded  lands  of 
gardens  in  our  suburban  towns.  In  some  -foreign  coun- 
tries the  superstitions  of  the  people  cause  them  to  pre- 
serve many  of  these  things  which  are  so  valuable  in  ways 
but  little  understood.  It  is  the  misfortune  of  our  land, 
that  these  conservative  superstitions  which  we  have  re- 
jected are  not  supplanted  by  philosophy.  In  place  of  it 
we  discover  only  a  barren  infidelity  to  Nature,  and  a 
sceptical  disregard  of  her  benevolent  laws. 

The  growth  of  spontaneous  shrubbery  by  the  sides  of 
the  less  frequented  roads,  and  in  all  those  situations 
where  it  does  not  interfere  with  needful  operations,  is 
one  of  the  chief  blessings  of  nature.  It  is  profitable  for 
shade  and  for  shelter,  and  affords  constant  pleasure  to  the 
sight.  Especially  on  the  borders  of  rustic  by-ways  it 
covers  the  nakedness  of  the  stone  wall  with  foliage  and 
flowers,  and  produces  an  abundance  of  wild  fruit  for 
children  and  birds.  Tons  of  whortleberries  would  be 
produced  every  summer  by  rustic  waysides  and  the  bor- 
ders of  fields,  if  the  sordid  land-owner  did  not  destroy  the 
bushes  that  yield  them.  I  cannot  see  that  a  growth  of 
this  kind  close  to  the  fences  would  diminish  the  space  that 


84  WAYSIDE   SHRUBBERY. 

should  be  occupied  by  the  farmers'  crops.  Yet  were  it 
not  for  the  persistent  efforts  of  Nature,  who  plants  her 
shrubs  with  liberal  hand  in  neglected  fields  and  borders, 
they  would  long  since  have  been  exterminated  in  all 
our  old  townships.  It  is  true  that  they  do  not  yield 
any  immediate  profit  to  the  farmer;  but  they  produce 
fruit  which  is  a  luxury  to  the  children  of  the  neighbor- 
hood ;  they  are  valuable  for  the  shelter  they  afford  to  the 
birds;  they  protect  the  immediate  grounds  from  the 
winds,  even  more  than  trees ;  and  they  constitute  the  most 
interesting  embellishments  of  a  rustic  farm. 


r 


THE  AMERICAN   ELM.  87 

one  story  in  the  rear,  and  their  general  homely  appear- 
ance, reminding  us  of  the  simplicity  of  life  that  char- 
acterized our  people  before  the  Eevolution.  Their  very 
homeliness  is  attractive,  by  leaving  the  imagination  free 
to  dwell  upon  their  interesting  suggestions.  Not  many 
of  these  venerable  houses  are  now  extant ;  but  whenever 
we  see  one,  it  is  almost  invariably  accompanied  by  its 
Elm,  standing  upon  the  green  open  space  that  slopes 
down  from  it  in  front,  waving  its  long  branches  in  melan- 
choly grandeur  above  the  old  homestead,  and  drooping, 
as  with  sorrow,  over  the  infirmities  of  its  old  companion 
of  a  century. 

Early  in  April  the  Elm  puts  forth  its  flowers,  of  a  dark 
maroon  color,  in  numerous  clusters,  fringing  the  long  ter- 
minal spray,  and  filling  up  the  whole  space  so  effectually 
that  the  branches  can  hardly  be  seen;  they  appear  at 
the  same  time  with  the  crimson  flowers  of  the  red  maple, 
and  give  the  tree  a  very  sombre  appearance.  The  seeds 
ripen  early,  and  being  small  and  chaffy  are  wafted  in  all 
directions  and  carried  to  great  distances  by  the  wind.  In 
the  early  part  of  June,  soon  after  the  leaves  are  expanded, 
the  Elm  displays  the  most  beauty.  At  this  time  only  can 
its  verdure  be  considered  brilliant :  for  the  leaf  soon  fades 
to  a  dull  green,  and  displays  no  tints,  except  that  of  a 
rusty  yellow  in  the  autumn.  In  perfectly  healthy  elms, 
standing  on  a  deep  soil,  the  brightness  of  the  foliage  is 
retained  to  a  later  period ;  but  the  trees  near  Boston 
have  suffered  so  much  from  the  ravages  of  the  canker- 
worm  that  their  health  is  injured,  and  their  want  of 
vitality  is  shown  by  the  premature  fading  and  dropping 
of  their  foliage. 

Nothing  can  exceed  the  American  Elm  in  a  certain 
harmonious  combination  of  sturdiness  and  grace,  —  two 
qualities  which  are  seldom  united.  Along  with  its  supe- 
rior magnitude,  we  observe  a  great  length  and  slenderness 


88  THE  AMERICAN   ELM. 

of  its  branches,  without  anything  in  the  combination  that 
indicates  weakness.  It  is  very  agreeable  to  witness  the 
union,  under  any  circumstances,  of  two  interesting  or 
admirable  traits  of  character  which  are  supposed  to  be 
incompatible.  Hence  the  complacency  we  feel  when  we 
meet  a  brave  man  who  is  amiable  and  polite,  or  a  learned 
man  who  is  neither  reserved  nor  pedantic.  A  slender  vine, 
supported  by  a  sturdy  tree,  forms  a  very  agreeable  image ; 
not  less  delightful  is  that  consonance  we  perceive  in  a 
majestic  Elm,  formed  by  the  union  of  grandeur  with  the 
gracefulness  of  its  own  flowing  drapery. 

The  Elm  is  generally  subdivided  into  several  equal 
branches,  diverging  from  a  common  centre  at  a  small 
distance  above  the  ground.  The  height  of  this  diver- 
gence depends  on  the  condition  of  the  tree  when  it  was  a 
seedling,  whether  it  grew  in  a  forest  or  in  an  open  field ; 
and  the  angle  made  by  these  branches  is  much  wider 
when  it  obtained  its  growth  in  an  isolated  situation.  The 
shape  of  different  elms  varies  more  than  that  of  any 
other  known  species.  It  is  indeed  almost  the  only  tree 
which  may  be  said  to  exhibit  more  than  one  normal 
figure,  setting  aside  those  variations  of  form  which  are 
the  natural  effects  of  youth  and  age.  The  American  Elm 
never  displays  one  central  shaft  to  which  the  branches  are 
subordinate,  like  the  English  Elm ;  or  rather,  I  should 
say,  that  when  it  has  only  a  single  shaft  it  is  without 
any  limbs,  and  is  surrounded  only  with  short  and  slender 
twigs.  This  leads  me  to  speak  of  its  normal  diversities 
of  shape,  which  were  originally  described  by  Mr.  Emerson 
under  several  types. 

THE   DOME. 

This  is  the  form  which  the  Elm  seems  most  prone  to 
assume  when  it  stands  from  the  time  it  was  a  seedling 


THE   AMEEICAN  ELM.  89 

until  it  attains  its  full  stature  in  an  open  space.  It  then 
shows  a  broad  hemispherical  head,  formed  by  branches  of 
nearly  equal  size,  issuing  chiefly  from  a  common  centre, 
diverging  first  at  a  small  angle,  and  gradually  spreading 
outward  with  a  curve  that  may  be  traced  throughout 
their  length.  A  considerable  number  of  our  roadside 
elms  are  specimens  more  or  less  imperfect  of  this  normal 
type. 

THE  VASE  FORM. 

One  of  the  most  admirable  of  these  different  forms  is 
that  of  the  vase.  The  base  is  represented  by  the  roots  of 
the  tree  as  they  project  above  the  ground,  making  a  sort 
of  pedestal  for  the  trunk.  The  neck  of  the  vase  is  the 
trunk  before  it  is  subdivided.  The  middle  of  the  vase 
consists  of  the  lower  part  of  the  branches  as  they  swell 
outwards  with  a  graceful  curve,  then  gradually  diverge, 
until  they  bend  over  at  their  extremities  and  form  the  lip 
of  the  vase  by  a  circle  of  terminal  spray.  Perfect  speci- 
mens of  this  beautiful  form  are  rare,  but  in  a  row  or 
a  grove  of  elms  there  are  always  a  few  individuals  that 
approximate  to  this  type. 

THE  PARASOL. 

The  neatest  and  most  beautiful  of  these  forms  is  the 
parasol.  This  variety  is  seen  in  those  elms  which  have 
grown  to  their  full  height  in  the  forest,  and  were  left 
by  the  woodman  in  the  clearing  ;  for  such  is  the  general 
admiration  of  this  tree,  that  great  numbers  of  them  are 
left  in  clearings  in  all  parts  of  the  country.  The  State 
of  Maine  abounds  in  trees  of  this  form,  sending  forth 
almost  perpendicularly  a  number  of  branches,  that  spread 
out  rather  suddenly  at  a  considerable  height,  in  the  shape 
of  an  umbrella.  Trees  of  this  type  have  much  of  that 
grandeur  which  is  caused  by  great  height  and  small  dimen- 


90  THE  AMERICAN   ELM. 

sions,  as  observed  in  a  palm-tree.  A  remarkable  trait  in 
the  character  of  the  Elm  is,  that,  unlike  other  trees,  it 
seldom  loses  its  beauty,  and  is  often  improved  in  shape, 
by  growing  while  young  in  a  dense  assemblage.  It  is 
simply  modified  into  a  more  slender  shape,  usually  sub- 
divided very  near  the  ground  into  several  branches  that 
diverge  but  little  until  they  reach  the  summit  of  the  wood. 
Other  trees,  when  they  have  grown  in  a  dense  wood,  form 
but  a  single  shaft,  without  lateral  branches. 

THE  PLUME. 

The  most  singular  of  the  forms  assumed  by  the  Elm, 
and  which  cannot  be  regarded  as  of  a  normal  character, 
is  the  plume,  caused  by  some  peculiar  conditions  attend- 
ing its  early  growth.  The  shaft  is  sometimes  double,  but 
usually  not  divided  at  all,  except  into  two  or  three  small 
branches  at  its  very  summit.  It  is  perpendicular  to  near 
three  fourths  of  its  height,  and  then  bends  over,  like  one 
of  the  outer  branches  of  a  normal-shaped  Elm.  This 
whole  tree,  whether  double  or  single,  is  covered  from  the 
ground  to  its  summit  with  a  dense  embroidery  of  vine-like 
twigs  that  cluster  round  it  in  all  ways,  often  inverted,  as 
if  it  were  covered  with  a  woody  vine.  The  cause  of  this 
form  seems  to  be  the  removal  of  the  tree  into  an  uncon- 
genial soil,  that  is  too  scanty  and  innutritions  to  sustain 
a  healthy  growth.  Yet  I  have  seen  some  trees  of  this 
shape  in  clearings.  They  do  not  seem  to  be  diseased, 
yet  they  are  evidently  in  a  stunted  condition.  One  of 
the  most  remarkable  of  the  plume  elms  which  I  have 
seen  stands  in  the  northern  part  of  Danvers,  near  the 
point  where  the  Essex  Eailroad  crosses  the  Ipswich  Eiver. 
I  have  observed  a  similar  habit  of  growth  in  some  Eng- 
lish elms,  but  their  shaft  is  always  perpendicular. 


THE  ENGLISH  ELM.  91 


THE  ENGLISH  ELM. 

THE  English  Elm  may  be  seen  on  Boston  Common,  and 
in  front  of  old  mansions  in  Medford  and  other  ancient 
towns  in  Massachusetts.  Very  few  trees  of  this  species, 
however,  have  been  planted  since  the  Eevolution.  This 
royal  Elm  seems  to  have  lost  favor  when  republicanism 
took  the  place  of  monarchy.  Yet  in  many  points  the  Eng- 
lish Elm  is  superior  to  the  American  species.  It  is  not 
a  drooping  tree ;  it  resembles  the  oak  in  its  general  form, 
but  surpasses  it  in  height.  The  trunk  is  not  subdivided ; 
throughout  its  entire  length,  the  branches  are  attached  to 
it  by  wide  angles,  sometimes  spread  out  in  an  almost  hori- 
zontal direction.  Selby  remarks,  that,  "  in  point  of  magni- 
tude, grandeur  of  form,  and  majestic  growth,  the  English 
Elm  has  few  competitors  in  the  British  sylva."  In  the 
form  of  the  leaf  and  spray  it  closely  resembles  the  Ameri- 
can tree ;  but  the  leaf  is  of  a  brighter  green,  it  comes  out 
several  days  earlier  in  the  spring,  and  continues  green  in 
the  fall  a  week  or  ten  days  after  the  American  elm  has 
become  entirely  denuded.  The  same  difference,  in  a  less 
degree,  has  been  observed  in  the  leafing  and  falling  of  the 
leaf  of  all  European  trees,  compared  with  their  kindred 
species  in  the  American  forest. 


ODOKS   OF  VEGETATION. 

THE  beauty  of  a  summer  landscape  is  greatly  enhanced 
by  its  alliance  with  the  agreeable  odors  that  constantly 
emanate  from  herbs  and  flowers  ;  for  the  sight  of  a  grove 
or  woody  pasture  invariably  suggests  the  idea  of  fragrance. 
The  rising  mists  of  the  valley,  tinged  with  the  ruddy 
hues  of  dawn,  derive  interest  from  their  relation  to  the 
fragrance  of  morning.  And  it  may  be  remarked,  on  the 
other  hand,  that  odors  are  indebted  to  other  charming  in- 
fluences of  nature  for  a  great  share  of  their  own  pleasant- 
ness. For  nature  has  so  combined  all  the  objects  of 
creation,  that  they  are  made  to  reflect  a  portion  of  their 
own  light,  beauty,  and  agreeableness  upon  each  other. 

The  sense  of  smelling  is  not  included  by  philosophers 
among  the  intellectual  senses,  like  those  of  sight  and 
hearing.  It  chiefly  serves  the  purpose  of  directing  ani- 
mals to  the  right  selection  of  the  substances  they  use 
for  food  by  their  agreeable  odors,  and  averting  them  from 
such  as  are  noxious  by  those  of  an  offensive  character. 
This  instinct  is  an  unerring  guide  to  the  inferior  animals 
among  the  simple  productions  of  nature.  But  art  is  so 
ingenious  in  imparting  the  savor  of  any  agreeable  and 
wholesome  substance  to  others  which  are  injurious,  that 
the  sense  of  smell,  even  when  assisted  by  taste,  is  an 
unsafe  guide  in  the  use  of  artificial  preparations.  Among 
natural  productions,  unmodified  by  art,  the  senses  of 
smell  and  taste  are  safe  guides  to  all  fruits  and  other 
substances. 

It  is  not  my  purpose,  however,  to  discuss  this  point 


ODORS   OF   VEGETATION.  93 

physiologically,  but  to  treat  of  the  odors  of  plants 
chiefly  as  the  cause  of  agreeable  sensations,  and  as  a  sort 
of  picturesque  attraction,  when  we  are  either  rambling 
in  the  fields  or  employed  in  rural  occupations.  We  per- 
ceive characteristic  odors  in  every  wood  and  meadow,  by 
which  we  recognize  their  predominant  trees,  herbage,  and 
shrubbery.  Those  of  an  oak  wood  are  very  remarkable, 
and  not  to  be  mistaken  for  any  others.  They  are  not 
aromatic ;  but  they  have  a  freshness  more  agreeable,  per- 
haps, if  we  constantly  breathed  them,  than  a  spicy  fra- 
grance. This  odor  is  very  similar  to  that  of  oak  timber 
when  cut  and  sawed;  in  one  sense,  a  maritime  savor, 
like  that  of  a  ship-yard.  To  a  Briton  it  is  probably  a 
spice  of  royalty.  It  comes  chiefly  from  the  foliage  after 
it  has  dropped  from  the  trees  ;  for  the  fresh  green  leaves 
seem  to  be  scentless. 

In  wet  grounds  covered  with  alder,  when  it  is  in  flower, 
a  very  agreeable  essence  is  perceptible  in  the  air ;  but  I 
have  not  ascertained  its  source,  whether  it  comes  from 
the  herbage  or  the  shrubbery.  It  is  probably  the  arorna 
of  its  tasselled  flowers.  I  wonder  that  Darwin,  in  his 
"  Loves  of  the  Plants,"  never  suggested  the  idea  that  the 
pollen  of  flowers  is  guided  by  these  subtle  essences  to  the 
bosom  of  its  female,  when  wandering  upon  the  winds. 
This  delicate  aroma,  perceived  when  the  alder  is  in 
flower,  is  displaced  by  the  more  penetrating  odor  of  the 
azalea  in  July,  and  of  the  clethra  in  August.  The  fra- 
grance of  these  shrubs,  combined  with  that  of  the  myri- 
ca  and  the  cranberry-plant,  forms  the  characteristic  odor 
of  low  grounds,  where  no  stagnant  waters  are  present  to 
mix  with  it  any  impurity.  It  is  the  primitive  odor  of  the 
moorlands  when  covered  with  their  native  herbs. 

As  we  leave  the  meadows  and  ramble  near  the  hillside, 
where  the  native  grapevines  abound,  we  perceive  another 
class  of  odors,  still  more  agreeable,  resembling  the  per- 


94  ODORS   OF  VEGETATION. 

fume  of  mignonette,  most  perceptible  when  the  vines  are 
in  flower.  This  is  the  true  ambrosia  of  the  gods,  —  the 
honey-scent  of  Mount  Hybla.  It  seems  as  if  nature 
had  infused  into  the  leaf  or  flower  of  all  plants  that 
bear  an  agreeable  fruit  some  odor  that  shall  be  a  re- 
minder of  its  presence.  The  scent  of  the  grapevine 
comes  chiefly  from  its  flowers,  that  of  the  strawberry- 
plant  from  its  foliage  and  fruit.  Both  leaf  and  flower  of 
the  same  plant  are  seldom  fragrant.  The  flower  of  the 
sweetbrier  has  very  little  scent  compared  with  that  of  the 
common  wild  rose.  The  insect,  whose  services  are  so 
valuable  to  the  species,  needs  not  the  odor  of  the  flower 
if  it  can  perceive  that  of  the  leaf. 

The  characteristic  odors  of  the  seasons  come  chiefly 
from  flowers  in  the  spring  and  early  summer,  from  herbs 
and  foliage  in  the  latter  summer,  and  from  the  ripened 
harvest  and  withered  leaves  in  autumn.  Winter  is 
without  odors,  except  those  of  the  forest  and  seaside.  The 
first  aroma  that  pervades  the  atmosphere  in  spring  is  that 
of  willows  and  poplars,  which  are  very  distinct ;  the 
former  resembling  that  of  lilacs,  the  latter  more  balsamic, 
and  proceeding  no  less  from  the  glutinous  buds  than  from 
the  flowers.  Xature  never  seems  so  capricious  as  when 
she  distributes  her  odors  among  the  different  species  of 
vegetation.  Why  should  the  flowers  of  the  elm  and  the 
maple  be  scentless,  differing  in  this  respect  so  notably 
from  other  spring  flowers  ?  Fragrance  is  denied  them, 
perhaps  as  a  superfluity,  because  they  bloom  and  fade . 
before  the  insect  tribes  are  abroad. 

We  are  all  familiar  with  the  scent  of  flowering  orchard 
trees.  It  is  the  incense  that  May  diffuses  over  the  land- 
scape just  before  her  departure.  The  blossom  of  lin- 
den-trees succeeds,  and  brings  along  with  it  a  universal 
hum  of  insects,  that  seem  intoxicated  with  its  sweets. 
From  this  bloom  the  bee  gathers  the  choicest  honey. 


ODORS   OF  VEGETATION.  95 

If  the  linden-tree  had  no  other  extraordinary  merit,  I 
should  preserve  it  for  its  unrivalled  sweetness.  Its  fra- 
grant emanations  are  scattered  abroad  so  widely  that 
not  an  insect  loses  a  message  from  its  proffered  feast  of 
nectar ;  and  the  hum  of  the  innumerable  hosts  of  differ- 
ent species  attracts  our  attention  as  one  of  the  pictu- 
resque phenomena  of  the  season. 

The  true  seasonal  fragrance  of  summer  is  that  of  new- 
mown  hay,  for  the  air  is  filled  with  it  during  all  the  time 
of  haymaking.  This  is  indeed  the  "  balm  of  a  thousand 
flowers  "  ;  for  though  a  greater  part  of  the  aroma  comes 
from  the  leaves  of  clover  and  different  kinds  of  grasses, 
the  whole  is  the  grateful  result  of  many  species  with 
their  flowers,  when  cut  down  by  the  scythe.  Almost  any 
combination  of  healthful  herbs,  when  spread  out  to  the 
sun  and  wind,  after  being  mowed,  will  produce  an  aroma 
like  that  of  new-mown  hay.  If  you  mix  with  these  any 
considerable  quantity  of  those  noxious  or  innutritious 
herbs  which  are  not  acceptable  to  cattle,  there  comes 
from  the  mixture  a  rank  herbaceous  smell  that  indicates 
their  presence.  Nature  is  always  true  to  the  instincts  of 
her  creatures,  and  sets  up  no  false  allurements  to  tempt 
them  to  that  which  is  unhealthful. 

To  the  scent  of  new-mown  hay  succeeds  that  of  the 
grain  harvest,  —  the  odor  of  ripened  vegetation.  We  now 
mark  the  difference  between'  the  savor  of  herbs  when  they 
are  cut  down  in  blossom  and  after  they  have  ripened 
their  seeds.  The  odors  of  summer  are  more  spicy  or 
aromatic,  and  have  more  of  an  intoxicating  quality,  than 
those  of  the  harvest.  Nature  has  denied  fragrance  to  the 
autumnal  flowers,  except  a  few  that  resemble  the  flowers 
of  spring;  such  is  the  graceful  neottia,  breathing  the 
odor  of  hyacinths,  which  is  so  obscure  that  it  would  be 
overlooked  by  the  insects,  amid  the  host  of  scentless 
flowers,  if  they  were  not  guided  by  its  perfume.  Autumn 


96  ODORS   OF   VEGETATION. 

indeed  seems  niggardly  of  her  gifts  to  the  honey-sipping 
insects,  for  the  flowers  of  this  season  are  as  destitute  of 
sweetness  as  of  fragrance.  The  charms  of  autumn  are 
chiefly  for  the  eye,  —  of  tinted  woods  and  gorgeous  flow- 
ers, that  attract  us  more  by  their  glowing  profusion  than 
by  any  particular  beauty  as  individual  objects. 


r,  or  Gean,  of  Europe ; 
id  States. 


THE   CHERRY-TREE.  99 

small  tree  with  which  all  are  familiar  from  their  frequent 
disappointment  on  attempting  to  eat  its  frnit.  Its  prom- 
ises to  the  sight  are  not  fulfilled  to  the  taste.  Though 
of  an  agreeable  flavor,  it  is  exceedingly  harsh  and  as- 
tringent. This  is  a  more  beautiful  tree  when  in  flower 
than  the  black  cherry,  though  it  is  generally  a  mere  shrub, 
never  rising  above  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  in  height.  The 
racemes,  when  in  flower,  are  not  drooping,  as  they  are 
when  laden  with  fruit,  but  stand  out  at  right  angles  with 
the  branch,  completely  surrounding  it,  and  giving  to  every 
slender  twig  the  appearance  of  a  long  white  plume.  In 
the  eastern  part  of  Massachusetts  I  have  found  this  spe- 
cies, as  well  as  the  black  cherry,  in  old  graveyards,  —  so 
frequently,  indeed,  that  in  my  early  days  these  trees  were 
associated  with  graves,  as  the  Lombardy  poplar  is  with 
ancient  avenues.  I  suppose  their  frequency  in  these 
places  to  be  caused  by  the  birds  dropping  the  seeds  at 
the  foot  of  the  gravestones,  where  they  quickly  germi- 
nate, and  are  protected,  when  growing,  by  the  stone  be- 
side them. 

The  cultivation  of  the  Gean,  or  Great  Northern  Cherry 
of  Europe,  which  was  named  by  Linnaeus  the  bird  cherry, 
is  encouraged  in  Great  Britain  and  on  the  Continent  of 
Europe  for  the  benefit  of  the  birds,  which  are  regarded  as 
the  most  important  checks  to  the  over-multiplication  of 
insects.  The  fact,  not  yet  understood  in  America,  that 
the  birds  which  are  the  most  mischievous  as  consumers 
of  fruit  are  the  most  useful  as  destroyers  of  insects,  is 
well  known  by  all  the  farmers  in  Europe ;  and  while 
we  destroy  the  birds  to  save  the  fruit,  and  sometimes  cut 
down  the  fruit-trees  to  starve  the  birds,  the  Europeans 
more  wisely  plant  them  for  their  sustenance  and  accom- 
modation. 


THE  DEEAEY  AND  DESOLATE. 

IT  may  be  thought  somewhat  inconsistent  with  the 
purpose  of  these  essays  to  describe  the  charms  of  scenery 
which  many  regard  as  disagreeable ;  for  it  would  hardly 
be  supposed  that,  while  praising  a  beautiful  face,  we  should 
dwell  with  pleasure  on  its  plain  or  unpleasant  features. 
Yet  an  expression  of  sadness,  which  is  not  a  genuine  in- 
gredient of  beauty,  may  excite  love  by  awakening  our 
sympathies  ;  and,  to  pursue  this  analogy  a  little  further, 
we  know  there  is  something  in  the  face  of  certain  per- 
sons which  is  superior  to  beauty,  and  is  the  cause  why 
some  women,  who  were  not  considered  beautiful,  have  in- 
spired the  most  exalted  passion.  The  pleasure  afforded  to 
all  imaginative  minds  by  dreary  and  desolate  scenery  has 
its  origin  in  the  sentiment  of  melancholy.  This  kind  of 
scenery  is  not  identical  with  simple  rudeness  ;  it  is  more 
like  that  which  in  poetical  language  is  termed  weird. 
We  feel  the  force  of  the  sentiment  it  awakens  when  wan- 
dering over  extensive  bald  hills,  sparsely  covered  with 
vegetation,  and  interspersed  with  a  few  trees  of  gaunt  and 
shaggy  appearance,  or  when  traversing  wide  moorlands, 
half  covered  with  stagnant  waters,  and  with  trees  and 
shrubs  blackened  by  a  subsided  stream  or  lake. 

"We  are  not  always  aware  how  nearly  allied  are  our 
thoughts  and  sensations,  and  may  often  suppose  that  the 
mind  is  pondering  on  some  intellectual  theme  or  follow- 
ing a  metaphysical  train  of  thought,  when  we  are  only 
indulging  in  the  luxury  of  emotion.  And  this  may  ex- 
plain why  a  certain  vague  style  of  writing,  like  that  of 


THE  DREAKY  AND  DESOLATE.          101 

Eenan,  if  it  be  really  poetical,  is  highly  enjoyed  by  a  class 
of  readers  who  are  inclined  to  look  on  all  subjects  through 
the  colored  medium  of  passion.  The  poems  of  Ossian  are 
remarkable  for  this  quality  of  style.  They  are  tinged  with 
a  deep  pathos,  without  relating  any  incident  that  acts 
powerfully  upon  our  sympathy.  They  are  especially  dis- 
tinguished by  their  power  of  awakening  in  the  mind  the 
poetic  sentiment  of  desolation.  When  the  bard  speaks 
of  the  meteors  of  night  that  set  on  the  hill  before  the 
wanderer,  of  the  faint  roaring  of  distant  torrents,  of  in- 
constant blasts  rushing  through  the  aged  oaks,  and  of  the 
half-enlightened  moon  that  sinks  dim  and  red  behind  the 
hill,  the  beauty  of  his  description  depends  on  its  power 
of  exciting  those  ineffable  emotions  that  flow  from  sweet, 
solemn,  and  melancholy  music. 

•  It  is  from  this  sentiment  of  the  dreary  and  desolate 
that  certain  peculiar  words  and  images,  which  have  been 
mostly  confined  to  poetry,  derive  their  forcible  expression. 
Edgar  Poe  used  these  forms  of  speech  with  singular  fe- 
licity ;  and  the  charm  of  his  poems  flows  chiefly  from  his 
mystic  and  beautiful  euphemisms.  The  imagery  of  his 
poem  entitled  "  Ulalume ''  produces  much  of  the  sensation 
with  which  we  contemplate  a  weird  or  desolate  scene  in 
nature.  His  relation,  in  the  poem,  of  his  wandering  with 
Psyche  in  the  ghoul-haunted  woodland  of  Weir,  is  full  of 
a  certain  dreary  sentiment  of  pathos,  made  still  more 
poetical  by  its  obscurity,  like  a  rude  landscape  involved 
in  luminous  mist.  When  the  skies  were  ashen  and  sober, 
on  a  gloomy  autumnal  night,  in  the  misty  region  down  by 
the  dank  tarn  of  Auber,  he  held  a  sacred  interview  with 
Psyche;  and  their  discourse,  without  conveying  to  the 
mind  any  clear  and  intelligible  thought,  excites  very  defi- 
nite sensations  of  mingled  beauty  and  solemnity.  There 
are  intellectual  emotions  that  want  the  distinctness  of 
thought,  and  which  cannot  be  so  well  described  by  words 


102  THE  DREARY  AND  DESOLATE. 

as  by  music.  But  there  are  words  in  every  language, 
even  in  our  own  unmusical  tongue,  which  are  capable,  by 
their  sweetness  of  tone,  of  powerfully  exciting  the  imagi- 
nation. Such  materials  were  used  with  rare  skill  by 
this  singular  and  extraordinary  genius,  who  considered 
the  art  of  using  language  so  as  to  produce  the  greatest 
effect  no  less  worthy  of  study  than  the  arts  of  painting 
and  sculpture. 

There  is  nothing  positively  agreeable  in  dreary  or  deso- 
late scenery,  yet  the  sentiment  it  inspires  is  associated 
with  a  beneficent  law  of  our  nature  that  causes  a  little 
pathos  and  a  little  melancholy  to  heighten  the  pleasures 
of  life.  We  have  all,  at  certain  times,  been  deeply  affect- 
ed by  scenes  of  dreariness  and  mystery,  and  felt  from  the 
sweetness  and  sadness  that  are  blended  with  them  that 
no  merely  beautiful  scene  could  awaken  the  same  amount 
of  pleasurable  emotion.  Who  has  not  felt  the  charms  of 
a  wide  solitary  plain,  of  a  dark  forest,  and  of  the  deep 
ghostly  shadows  of  night  on  the  hills  ?  There  is  nothing 
that  comes  from  a  mere  view  of  nature  that  will  compare 
with  the  luxury  of  this  sentiment,  and  it  seems  to  me  to 
have  been  less  appreciated  by  painters  than  by  musicians. 
I  have  never  seen  a  picture  which  equalled  the  sublimer 
strains  of  music,  like  certain  passages  in  the  works  of 
Beethoven,  in  the  power  of  inspiring  these  sensations. 
But  the  ear  is  a  more  emotional  organ  than  the  eye, 
and  perhaps  a  higher  order  of  genius  is  required  in  the 
painter  than  in  the  musician  to  produce  equal  emotional 
effects. 

We  delight  to  witness  the  phenomena  of  Nature  under 
aspects  that  present  her  to  our  imaginations  as  a  gentle 
sympathizer  or  seeming  partner  in  our  afflictions.  Hence 
autumn  is  the  favorite  season  of  poets,  because  it  emblem- 
izes  sorrow,  and  fills  the  lap  of  Nature  with  dead  leaves 
which  she  strews  over  the  graves  of  flowers  ;  and  we  love 


THE   DBEARY  AND   DESOLATE.  103 

to  hear  the  low  moaning  of  winds  at  this  time,  when  they 
seem  like  dirges  over  the  departed  beauties  of  summer. 
We  love  the  evening  twilight  and  Hesper's  melancholy 
star,  because  they  inspire  tender  sensations  of  melan- 
choly, and  raise  our  souls  at  the  same  time  to  the  con- 
templation of  infinity.  The  pale  light  of  the  moon  gives 
us  intimations  of  the  sympathy  of  the  benign  goddess ; 
and  while  sitting  under  her  light,  lovers  and  mourners, 
those  who  rejoice  and  those  who  weep,  feel  the  presence 
of  a  divinity  and  an  alleviation  of  those  passions  that 
agitate  the  soul. 

The  sense  of  weirdness  which  we  feel  when  surrounded 
by  certain  kinds  of  dreary  landscape  intensifies  our  love 
of  nature.  The  feelings  it  inspires  are  of  a  spiritual  cast, 
and  far  above  the  sensual  delights  that  spring  from  the 
sight  of  dressed  grounds  and  voluptuous  gardens.  But 
this  kind  of  scenery  may  be  compared  to  certain  pathetic 
or  solemn  strains  in  music,  which,  if  long  continued,  would 
become  depressing.  When  we  emerge  from  such  a  pros- 
pect into  that  of  an  opposite  character,  we  feel  a  pleasant 
exhilaration  which  is  due  to  our  previous  depression. 
It  is  like  the  twilight  of  morning,  that  exalts  our  spirits 
by  blending  with  the  sadness  of  earth  and  night  some 
of  the  inspiring  tints  of  heaven  and  immortality. 


THE  SNOWY  MESPILU§. 

THIS  tree,  which  is  conspicuous  in  the  early  part  of  May 
from  its  profusion  of  white  flowers  in  the  swamps,  is  very 
little  known  except  in  Canada  and  some  of  the  northern 
provinces  of  this  continent.  Yet  it  is  far  from  being  rare, 
and  is  one  of  the  most  elegant  of  the  small  trees  in  our 
native  forest ;  being  allied  to  the  mountain  ash,  branch- 
ing in  a  similar  manner,  but  exhibiting  a  neater  and  more 
beautiful  spray.  It  is  exclusively  a  Northern  tree,  and 
one  of  the  earliest  to  put  forth  flowers  and  leaves  after  the 
elm  and  the  red  maple.  This  tree  is  spread  over  almost 
all  the  northern  part  of  the  American  continent  and  the 
Alleghany  Mountains.  From  its  habit  of  flowering  at  the 
time  of  the  annual  appearance  of  the  shad  in  our  waters, 
it  is  very  frequently  called  the  Shad-bush. 

The  Snowy  Mespilus  is  one  of  those  trees  which  bot- 
anists have  described  under  so  many  different  names 
that  I  should  shrink  from  the  task,  if  the  duty  were 
assigned  me,  of  collecting  all  that  have  been  applied  to 
it.  But  whenever  there  is  much  contrariety  of  opinion 
among  botanists  respecting  the  generic  rank  and  denomi- 
nation of  any  plant,  I  usually  resort  to  its  earliest  botan- 
ical title.  Indeed,  I  feel  assured  that  the  nice  distinc- 
tions upon  which  later  botanists  have  founded  its  claims 
to  a  different  generic  position  are  very  much  of  the  same 
nature  as  those  which  divide  theologians,  whose  eccle- 
siastical acuteness  enables  them  to  discern  a  palpable  dif- 
ference in  two  doctrinal  points,  neither  of  which  to  an 
unregenerate  mind  have  any  meaning  at  all.  I  therefore 


THE  CHOKEBERRY.  105 

prefer  to  call  this  tree  a  Mespilus,  after  Linnaeus  and  Mi- 
chaux,  to  save  myself  the  trouble  of  those  infinitesimal 
investigations  that  might  convince  me  of  the  propriety  of 
placing  it  in  every  one  of  a  dozen  other  different  genera. 

The  Shad-bush  is  a  small  tree  inclining  to  grow  in 
clumps,  instead  of  making  a  single  stem  from  the  root, 
and  is  seldom  quite  so  large  or  so  tall  as  the  mountain 
ash.  The  leaves  are  small  and  alternate,  resembling  those 
of  a  pear-tree,  but  more  elegant,  and  covered  with  a  soft 
silken  down  on  their  first  appearance;  as  the  foliage 
ripens,  it  becomes  smooth  and  glossy.  The  flowers  are 
white,  but  without  beauty,  growing  in  loose  panicles  at 
the  ends  of  the  branches.  The  product  of  these  flowers 
is  a  small  fruit,  about  the  size  of  the  common  wild  goose- 
berry, of  a  dark  crimson  color  and  a  very  agreeable  flavor. 
This  fruit  is  used  very  generally  in  the  northern  prov- 
inces, where  the  tree  is  larger  and  more  productive  than 
in  New  England. 


THE  CHOKEBERRY. 

A  SMALLER  species  of  mespilus,  familiarly  known  as  the 
Chokeberry,  is  more  interesting  as  a  flowering  plant.  It 
is  a  slender  shrub,  with  beautiful  finely  toothed  leaves, 
bearing  flowers  in  clusters  very  much  like  those  of  the 
hawthorn,  with  white  petals  and  purple  or  crimson  an- 
thers. The  flowers  stand  erect,  but  the  berries,  which  are 
very  astringent  and  are  often  gathered  carelessly  with 
whortleberries,  hang  from  the  branches  in  full  pendent 
clusters.  The  flowers  of  this  plant  are  very  conspicuous 
in  the  latter  part  of  May  in  all  our  meadows. 


106  THE  MOUNTAIN  ASH. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  ASH. 

THE  Mountain  Ash,  or  Kowan-tree,  is  beautiful  in  all 
its  conditions  and  at  all  seasons.  Its  elegant  pinnate  fo- 
liage, not  flowing,  like  that  of  the  locust,  but  neat,  firm,  and 
finely  serrate,  and  its  flowers,  in  large  clusters,  like  those 
of  the  elder,  render  the  tree  very  conspicuous  when  in 
blossom.  But  its  greatest  ornament  is  the  scarlet  fruit 
that  hangs  from  every  branch  in  the  autumn.  We  could 
hardly  be  persuaded  to  introduce  the  Mountain  Ash  into 
a  picture.  The  primness  of  its  form  injures  it  as  a  pic- 
turesque object  in  landscape.  Its  beauty  is  such  as  chil- 
dren admire,  who  are  guided  by  a  sense  of  its  material 
attractions,  and  do  not  generally  prize  a  tree  except  for 
its  elegance  and  colors.  The  beauty,  however,  which  at- 
tracts the  sensual  eye  in  this  case  is  deceitful,  for  its  fruit 
is  of  a  bitter,  sour  flavor,  and  incapable  of  improvement. 
European  writers  say  that  thrushes  are  very  fond  of  this 
fruit.  In  our  land  it  remains  untouched,  at  least  until 
late  in  the  season,  after  the  black  cherries  are  gone,  which 
tempt  all  kinds  of  birds  by  their  superior  flavor.  The 
American  Mountain  Ash  differs  from  the  European  tree 
only  by  its  smaller  fruit. 

I  have  said  that  the  Mountain  Ash  is  wanting  in  pictu- 
resque qualities ;  but  my  remark  applies  only  to  its  form 
and  habit  of  growth.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  peculiarly 
the  tree  of  romance,  being  remarkable  for  the  many 
superstitious  customs  connected  with  it.  According  to 
Evelyn,  "  There  is  no  churchyard  in  Wales  without  a 
Mountain  Ash-tree  planted  in  it,  as  the  yew-trees  are  in 
the  churchyards  of  England.  So  on  a  certain  day  of  the 
year  everybody  in  Wales  religiously  wears  a  cross  made 
of  the  wood."  Gilpin  says  that  in  his  time  "  a  stump  of 
the  Mountain  Ash  was  generally  found  in  some  old  burial- 


THE  MOUNTAIN  ASH. 


107 


place,  or  near  the  circle  of  a  Druid's  temple,  the  rites  of 
which  were  formerly  performed  under  its  shade." 

Many  of  the  inhabitants  of  Great  Britain  still  believe 
that  a  branch  of  the  Eowan-tree  carried  about  with  them 
is  a  charm  against  the  evil  influences  of  witchcraft.  It 
is  remarkable  that  similar  superstitions  connected  with 
this  tree  prevail  among  the  North  American  Indians ;  and 
it  is  not  improbable  that  they  were  introduced  by  the 
early  Welsh  colonists,  before  the  discovery  of  America 
by  Columbus. 


KELATIONS   OF  TEEES  TO  WATER 

THEEE  is  a  spot  which  I  used  to  visit  some  years  ago, 
that  seemed  to  me  one  of  the  most  enchanting  of  natural 
scenes.  It  was  a  level  plain  of  about  ten  acres,  sur- 
rounded by  a  narrow  stream  that  was  fed  by  a  steep  ridge 
forming  a  sort  of  amphitheatre  round  more  than  half  its 
circumference.  The  ridge  was  a  declivity  of  near  a  hun- 
dred feet  in  height,  and  so  steep  that  you  could  climb  it 
only  by  taking  hold  of  the  trees  and  bushes  that  covered 
it.  The  whole  surface  consisted  of  a  thin  stratum  of  soil 
deposited  upon  a  slaty  rock;  but  the  growth  of  trees 
upon  this  slope  was  beautiful  and  immense,  and  the 
water  that  was  constantly  trickling  from  a  thousand  foun- 
tains kept  the  ground  all  the  year  green  with  mosses  and 
ferns,  and  gay  with  many  varieties  of  flowers.  The  soil 
was  so  rich  in  the  meadow  enclosed  by  this  ridge,  and 
annually  fertilized  by  the  debris  washed  from  the  hills, 
that  the  proprietor  every  summer  filled  his  barns  with  hay, 
which  was  obtained  from  it  without  any  cultivation. 

I  revisited  this  spot  a  few  years  since,  after  a  long 
period  of  absence.  A  new  owner,  "  a  man  of  progress  and 
enterprise,"  had  felled  the  trees  that  grew  so  beautifully 
on  the  steep  sides  of  this  elevation,  and  valley  and  hill 
have  become  a  dreary  and  unprofitable  waste.  The  thin 
soil  that  sustained  the  forest,  no  longer  protected  by 
the  trees  and  their  undergrowth,  has  been  washed  down 
into  the  valley,  leaving  nothing  but  a  bald,  rocky  surface, 
whose  hideousness  is  scarcely  relieved  by  a  few  straggling 
vines.  The  valley  is  also  ruined  ;  for  the  inundations  to 


RELATIONS  OF  TREES  TO  WATER.  109 

which  it  is  subject  after  any  copious  rain  destroy  every 
crop  that  is  planted  upon  it,  and  render  it  impracticable 
for  tillage.  It  is  covered  with  sand  heaps ;  the  little 
stream  that  glided  round  it,  fringed  with  azaleas  and  wild 
roses,  has  disappeared,  and  the  land  is  reduced  to  a  bar- 
ren pasture. 

The  general  practice  of  the  pioneers  of  civilization  on 
this  continent  was  to  cut  down  the  wood  chiefly  from  the 
uplands  and  the  lower  slopes  of  the  hills  and  mountains. 
They  cleared  those  tracts  which  were  most  valuable  for 
immediate  use  and  cultivation.  Necessity  led  them  to 
pursue  the  very  course  required  by  the  laws  of  nature  for 
improving  the  soil  and  climate.  The  first  clearings  were 
made  chiefly  for  purposes  of  agriculture ;  and  as  every 
farm  was  surrounded  by  a  rampart  of  woods,  it  was  shel- 
tered from  the  force  of  the  winds  and  pleasantly  open  to 
the  sun.  But  when  men  began  to  fell  the  woods  to  sup- 
ply the  demands  of  towns  and  cities  for  fuel  and  lumber, 
these  clearings  were  gradually  deprived  of  their  shelter, 
by  levelling  the  surrounding  forest  and  opening  the  coun- 
try to  the  winds  from  every  quarter.  But  the  clearing  of 
the  wood  from  the  plains,  while  it  has  rendered  the  cli- 
mate more  unstable,  has  not  been  the  cause  of  inunda- 
tions or  the  diminution  of  streams.  This  evil  has  been 
produced  by  clearing  the  mountains  and  lesser  elevations 
having  steep  or  rocky  sides ;  and  if  this  destructive  work 
is  not  checked  by  legislation  or  by  the  wisdom  of  the  peo- 
ple, plains  and  valleys  now  green  and  fertile  will  become 
profitless  for  tillage  or  pasture,  and  the  advantages  we 
shall  have  sacrificed  will  be  irretrievable  in  the  lifetime 
of  a  single  generation.  The  same  indiscriminate  felling  of 
woods  has  rendered  many  a  once  fertile  region  in  Europe 
barren  and  uninhabitable,  equally  among  the  cold  moun- 
tains of  Norway  and  the  sunny  plains  of  Brittany. 

Our  climate  suffers  more  than  formerly  from  summer 


110  RELATIONS   OF   TREES   TO   WATER. 

droughts.  Many  ancient  streams  have  entirely  disap- 
peared, and  a  still  greater  number  are  dry  in  summer. 
Boussingault  mentions  a  fact  that  clearly  illustrates  the 
condition  to  which  we  may  be  exposed  in  thousands  of 
locations  on  this  continent.  In  the  island  of  Ascension 
there  was  a  beautiful  spring,  situated  at  the  foot  of  a 
mountain  which  was  covered  with  wood.  By  degrees  the 
spring  became  less  copious,  and  at  length  failed.  While 
its  waters  were  annually  diminishing  in  bulk,  the  moun- 
tain had  been  gradually  cleared  of  its  forest.  The  dis- 
appearance of  the  spring  was  attributed  to  the  clearing. 
The  mountain  was  again  planted,  and  as  the  new  growth 
of  wood  increased,  the  spring  reappeared,  and  finally  at- 
tained its  original  fulness.  More  to  be  dreaded  than 
drought,  and  produced  by  the  same  cause,  —  the  clear- 
ing of  steep  declivities  of  their  wood,  —  are  the  exces- 
sive inundations  to  which  all  parts  of  the  country  are 
subject. 

If  it  were  in  the  power  of  man  to  dispose  his  woods 
and  tillage  in  the  most  advantageous  manner,  he  might 
not  only  produce  an  important  amelioration  of  the  general 
climate,  but  he  might  diminish  the  frequency  and  severity 
both  of  droughts  and  inundations,  and  preserve  the  gen- 
eral fulness  of  streams.  If  every  man  were  to  pursue 
that  course  which  would  protect  his  own  grounds  from 
these  evils,  it  would  be  sufficient  to  bring  about  this  be- 
neficent result.  If  each  owner  of  land  would  keep  all  his 
hills  and  declivities,  and  all  slopes  that  contain  only  a 
thin  deposit  of  soil  or  a  quarry,  covered  with  forest,  he 
would  lessen  his  local  inundations  from  vernal  thaws  and 
summer  rains.  Such  a  covering  of  wood  tends  to  equal- 
ize the  moisture  that  is  distributed  over  the  land,  causing 
it,  when  showered  upon  the  hills,  to  be  retained  by  the 
mechanical  action  of  the  trees  and  their  undergrowth  of 
shrubs  and  herbaceous  plants,  and  by  the  spongy  surface 


RELATIONS   OF  TREES  TO  WATER.  Ill 

of  the  soil  underneath  them,  made  porous  by  mosses,  de- 
cayed leaves,  and  other  dSlris,  so  that  the  plains  and  val- 
leys have  a  moderate  oozing  supply  of  moisture  for  a 
long  time  after  every  shower.  Without  this  covering,  the 
water  when  precipitated  upon  the  slopes,  would  immedi- 
ately rush  down  over  an  unprotected  surface  in  torrents 
upon  the  space  below. 

Every  one  has  witnessed  the  effects  of  clearing  the 
woods  and  other  vegetation  from  moderate  declivities  in 
his  own  neighborhood.  He  has  observed  how  rapidly  a 
valley  is  inundated  by  heavy  showers,  if  the  rising 
grounds  that  form  its  basin  are  bare  of  trees  and  planted 
with  the  farmer's  crops.  Even  grass  alone  serves  to  check 
the  rapidity  with  which  the  water  finds  its  way  to  the 
bottom  of  the  slope.  Let  it  be  covered  with  bushes  and 
vines,  and  the  water  flows  with  a  speed  still  more  dimin- 
ished. Let  this  shrubbery  grow  into  a  forest,  and  the 
valley  would  never  be  inundated  except  by  a  long-con- 
tinued and  flooding  rain.  Woods  and  their  undergrowth 
are  indeed  the  only  barriers  against  frequent  and  sudden 
inundations,  and  the  only  means  in  the  economy  of  na- 
ture for  preserving  an  equal  fulness  of  streams  during  all 
seasons  of  the  year. 

At  first  thought,  it  may  seem  strange  that  the  clearing 
of  forests  should  be  equally  the  cause  both  of  drought 
and  inundations  ;  but  these  apparently  incompatible  facts 
are  easily  explained  by  considering  the  different  effects 
produced  by  woods  standing  in  different  situations.  An 
excess  of  moisture  in  the  valleys  comes  from  the  drain- 
age of  the  hills,  and  the  same  conditions  that  will  cause 
them  to  be  dried  up  at  certain  times  will  cause  them  to 
be  flooded  at  others.  Nature's  design  seems  to  be  to  pre- 
serve a  constant  moderate  fulness  of  streams  and  stand- 
ing water.  This  purpose  she  accomplishes  by  clothing 
the  general  surface  of  the  country  with  wood.  When 


112  RELATIONS   OF   TREES   TO   WATER. 

man  disturbs  this  arrangement,  he  may  produce  evil  con- 
sequences which  he  had  never  anticipated.  We  are  not, 
however,  to  conclude  that  we  may  not  improve  the  soil 
and  climate  by  changing  the  original  condition  of  this 
wooded  surface.  The  clearing  of  the  forest  may  be  re- 
duced to  a  science  whose  laws  are  as  sure  and  unexcep- 
tionable as  those  of  mechanics  and  hydraulics.  Though  it 
has  not  gained  much  attention  from  the  public  mind,  it  is 
well  understood  by  the  learned  who  have  made  this  branch 
of  vegetable  meteorology  their  special  study.  Our  danger 
lies  in  neglecting  to  apply  these  laws  to  operations  in  the 
forest,  and  in  preferring  to  obtain  certain  immediate  com- 
mercial advantages,  at  the  risk  of  inflicting  evils  of  incal- 
culable extent  upon  a  coming  generation. 


THE  LIISTDEN-TREE. 

THE  Lime  or  Linden  tree  is  generally  known  among 
our  countrymen  as  the  Bass,  and  was  not,  before  the 
present  century,  employed  as  a  wayside  tree.  The  old 
standards  seen  in  our  ancient  villages  are  European 
Limes.  During  the  past  thirty  years  the  American  tree 
has  been  very  generally  planted  by  roadsides,  in  avenues 
and  pleasure-grounds,  and  few  trees  are  more  highly 
valued  in  these  situations.  But  the  American  has  less 
beauty  than  the  European  tree,  which  is  clothed  with 
softer  foliage,  has  a  smaller  leaf,  and  a  neater  and  more 
elegant  spray.  Our  native  Lime  bears  larger  and  more 
conspicuous  flowers,  in  heavier  clusters,  but  of  inferior 
sweetness.  Both  species  are  remarkable  for  their  size 
and  longevity.  The  Lime  in  Great  Britain  is  a  tree  of 
first  magnitude,  frequently  rising  to  the  height  of  eighty 
or  ninety  feet,  with  a  trunk  of  proportional  diameter. 
The  American  species  is  not  inferior  to  it  in  size  or  alti- 
tude. Some  of  the  largest  trees  in  Western  New  York 
are  Limes. 

The  Lime  has  in  all  ages  been  celebrated  for  the  fra- 
grance of  its  flowers  and  the  excellence  of  the  honey  made 
from  them.  The  famous  Mount  Hybla  was  covered 
with  Lime-trees.  The  aroma  from  its  flowers  is  like  that 
of  mignonette ;  it  perfumes  the  whole  atmosphere,  though 
never  disagreeable  from  excess,  and  is  perceptible  to  the 
inhabitants  of  all  the  beehives  within  the  circuit  of  a 
mile.  The  Lime  is  also  remarkable  for  a  general  beauty 
of  proportion,  a  bright  verdure  contrasting  finely  with 


114  THE  LINDEN-TREE. 

the  dark-colored  branches,  and  an  outline  regular  and 
symmetrical  without  formality.  When  covered  with 
leaves,  it  bears  some  resemblance  in  outward  form  to  the 
maple,  but  surpasses  it,  when  leafless,  in  the  beauty  of  its 
ramification.  The  leaves  are  roundish  heart-shaped,  of  a' 
clear  and  lively  green  in  summer,  but  acquiring  a  spotted 
and  rusty  look  in  autumn,  and  adding  nothing  to  the 
splendors  of  that  season.  In  the  spring,  however,  no  tree 
of  our  forest  displays  a  more  beautiful  verdure  before  it 
acquires  the  uniform  dark  green  of  the  summer  woods. 

The  branches  of  the  Lime  have  a  very  dark-colored 
surface,  distinguishing  it  from  other  trees  that  agree 
with  it  in  size  and  general  appearance.  The  bark  of 
the  maple,  for  example,  is  light  and  of  an  ashen-gray 
tint,  and  that  of  the  poplars  a  sort  of  greenish  clay- 
color.  This  dark  hue  renders  the  spray  of  the  Lime 
very  conspicuous,  after  a  shower,  and  in  spring,  when  all 
the  leaves  are  of  a  light  and  brilliant  green ;  but  these 
incidental  beauties  are  not  very  lasting.  The  branches, 
being  alternate,  are  very  minutely  subdivided,  and  their 
extremities  neatly  drawn  inwards,  so  that  in  a  denuded 
state  it  is  one  of  our  finest  winter  ornaments.  The  spray 
of  the  beech  is  more  airy,  that  of  the  elm  more  flowing, 
and  that  of  the  oak  more  curiously  netted  and  inter- 
woven ;  but  the  spray  of  the  Lime  is  remarkable  for  its 
freedom  from  all  defect. 

George  Barnard,  who,  being  a  painter,  looks  upon  trees 
as  they  are  more  or  less  adapted  to  his  own  art,  re- 
marks :  — 

"  When  young,  or  indeed  up  to  an  age  perhaps  of  sixty 
or  seventy  years,  the  Lime  has  a  formal  appearance,  with 
little  variation  in  its  masses  of  foliage;  but  let  some 
accident  occur,  such  as  the  breaking  down  of  a  large 
branch,  or  the  removal  of  a  neighboring  tree,  it  then 
presents  a  charming  picture." 


THE  LINDEN-TREE.  115 

One  of  the  curiosities  of  the  Lime-tree  that  deserves 
notice  is  a  certain  winged  appendage  to  the  seed,  which 
is  a  round  nut  about  the  size  of  a  pea.  This  is  attached 
to  a  long  stem,  from  the  end  of  which,  joined  to  it  ob- 
liquely, descends  a  ribbon-like  bract,  causing  it,  when  it 
falls,  to  spin  round  and  travel  a  long  distance  upon  the 
wind.  If  the  tree  stands  on  the  borders  of  a  pond,  where 
the  seeds  fall  upon  the  surface,  this  winged  appendage 
performs  the  part  of  a  sail,  and  causes  the  seeds  to  be 
wafted  to  different  points  of  the  opposite  shore. 


OLD   OECHAEDS. 

SATJNTEKING  from  the  town  into  solitary  field-paths,  and 
passing  by  rustic  cottages  with  their  pleasant  array  of 
haystacks,  unornamented  barns,  and  simple  gardens  full 
of  roses  and  sunflowers,  and  wending  our  way  over 
pebbly  hills  and  plashy  hollows,  we  enter  a  recent  growth 
of  wood  that  has  come  up  spontaneously  upon  an  old 
neglected  farm.  We  follow  a  wood-path,  shaded  by  a 
stunted  growth  of  pines  and  white  birches,  and  bordered 
with  wild-flowers,  and,  leaving  the  ruins  of  an  old 
cider-mill,  reach  an  opening,  enclosed  by  a  dilapidated 
stone-wall,  half  concealed  by  tall  shrubs  and  vines  and 
by  trees  that  have  encroached  upon  its  boundaries. 
Emerging  into  this  open  space  we  find  ourselves  in  an 
old  orchard  that  still  bears  meagre  crops  of  fruit,  which 
was  an  appendage  to  a  farm  long  neglected  and  abandoned, 
now  half  restored  to  its  original  condition  as  a  forest. 

I  have  often  called  the  attention  of  lovers  of  nature 
to  the  peculiar  beauty  which  is  apparent  in  an  old  or- 
chard. I  know  it  is  not  much  admired  by  improvers.  It 
has  neither  trimness  nor  elegance.  There  is  nothing  in 
the  style  of  the  trees  or  the  character  of  the  ground  that 
awakens  any  ideas  of  aristocratic  dignity.  The  old  stone- 
walls that  enclose  it,  loose  and  dilapidated,  betray  no  ex- 
travagant outlay  of  money.  They  remind  you  only  of 
the  simple  labor  of  hard  hands  and  the  rude  husbandry 
of  toiling  men.  The  ideas  associated  with  the  old  or- 
chard are  those  of  rustic  simplicity,  —  of  apple-gathering 
by  rural  swains;  of  golden,  russet,  and  crimson  fruit, 


s  and 
nented  bar 

come  up 

arm.     V  -  i  by  a 

md  bordered 
u    old 


•    : 
now  1 

lovers  of  nature 

to  the  -nt  in  an  old  or- 

chard, 
has  neither  trim;. 

•leas  asso-  the  old  or- 

nl  swains;  ,  russet,  n  u  fruit, 


118  OLD   ORCHARDS. 

know,  when  we  see  it,  there  is  no  watchful  guardian  of 
the  place,  anxious  to  keep  out  trespassers,  from  the  bird 
that  sings  in  the  tree,  to  the  truant  boy  who  watches 
for  forbidden  fruit.  It  is  a  sign  that  the  field  has  been 
partially  restored  to  nature ;  that  it  is  in  one  sense 
abandoned  by  its  proprietor,  and  is  freely  open  to  all,  like 
the  wild  wood  and  the  whortleberry  pasture. 

The  grounds  have  acquired  a  rugged  and  bushy  appear- 
ance from  the  renewal  of  many  wild  plants.  Viburnums, 
elders,  and  wild  roses  have  reappeared  in  the  borders, 
and  tufts  of  low  blueberry-bushes  are  conspicuous  here 
and  there,  fringing  the  edges  of  some  projecting  rock  with 
their  heathlike  blossoms  and  foliage  and  their  bright 
azure  fruit.  The  clover  and  herdsgrass  have  disappeared, 
and  in  the  place  of  them  are  brown  spleenworts  and  tufted 
andropogons.  The  rocks  forming  the  loose  stone-wall  are 
incrusted  with  lichens  and  garlanded  with  the  creeping 
sumach,  and  the  squirrel  finds  shelter  and  concealment 
there  as  peaceful  as  in  his  native  wild  wood.  "We  find 
here  some  of  the  solitary  birds  of  the  forest,  and  the  quail 
leads  out  her  young  fearlessly,  as  if  the  old  apple-trees 
were  guardians  of  their  safety.  We  look  around,  doubt- 
ful if  human  hands  have  ever  marred  the  sacredness  of 
this  lovely  spot;  but  we  see  that  it  is  a  quadrangular 
space,  that  the  old  trees  stand  in  broken  rows ;  and  the 
sweet  pyrola  and  the  red  summer  lily  announce  by  their 
presence  the  restoration  of  the  grounds  to  nature. 

Apple-trees  are  not  the  only  denizens  of  an  old  or- 
chard. Around  its  borders  standard  forest  trees  fling 
their  shadowy  branches  over  the  old  stone-wall ;  equal- 
ling perhaps  the  fruit-trees  in  age,  though  from  their 
greater  vitality  still  retaining  the  vigor  and  beauty  of 
their  prime.  The  oak  is  there,  with  its  playful  squirrels 
and  its  contorted  boughs.  A  few  hickories  and  wild- 
cherry  trees  stand  there,  like  sentinels  of  the  field ;  and 


OLD   ORCHAEDS.  119 

now  and  then  a  white-pine  rears  its  summit  above  all  the 
other  trees,  exceeding  even  the  oak  in  grandeur.  All 
these  forest  trees,  with  a  variety  of  undershrubs,  enclose 
the  old  orchard,  hide  it  from  distant  view,  and  render  it 
a  sacred  precinct  where  we  may  saunter  as  in  an  old 
graveyard,  and  read  from  the  parasitic  mosses  and  lichens, 
and  the  hieroglyphical  patches  and  incrustations,  many  a 
quaint  incident  in  the  history  of  the  old  trees. 

While  strolling  among  these  old  trees,  we  are  struck  by 
their  expressions  of  dignity  and  pathos.  There  is  about 
them  also  a  rusticity  not  to  be  discovered  in  a  young  and 
thriving  orchard.  Upon  the  moss-covered  bark  of  the 
aged  apple-trees,  and  in  the  hollow  branches,  that  afford 
a  retreat  to  the  woodpecker  and  the  bluebird,  we  see  a 
picture  of  that  rudeness  we  observe  in  the  rocks  that  pro- 
ject from  the  sides  of  the  steep  hills  and  crown  their  sum- 
mits. We  feel  easy  in  their  company,  as  in  the  presence 
of  the  old  yeoman  who  has  always  garnered  their  fruit. 
The  operations  of  tillage  have  been  almost  obliterated  by 
crowds  of  spontaneous  wildings.  We  look  upon  the  wide 
and  frequent  clumps  of  moss  upon  the  greensward,  inter- 
spersed with  low  shrubs  and  groups  of  wild-flowers,  and 
we  say,  "  Here  we  may  repose,  under  the  shade  of  these 
trees,  and  hear  the  voice  of  the  Echo  as  before  she  was 
banished  to  her  shell,  and  breathe  the  incense  burned  by 
the  Dryad  in  her  own  temple." 

In  early  summer  the  singing-birds  carol  their  rapid 
notes  in  multitudes,  crossing  and  recrossing  the  field  and 
careering  in  circles  over  the  trees,  and  p.ouring  out  their 
wild  notes  while  on  the  wing  in  the  joy  of  that  freedom 
designed  by  Nature  for  all  her  creatures.  An  old  or- 
chard is  the  favorite  resort  of  birds  at  all  seasons.  More 
nests  are  built  in  these  rugged  apple-trees  than  in  any 
other  grove  of  equal  size,  especially  if  there  be  woods  and 
thickets  around  to  afford  them  shelter  and  seclusion.  The 


120  OLD   ORCHARDS. 

density  of  the  spray  of  the  apple-trees,  and  the  many 
irregularities  of  their  ramification,  create  little  hollows  and 
angles  for  the  nests  of  birds  that  build  in  the  open  air, 
and  their  hollow  boughs  form  safe  retreats  for  those 
species  that  seek  protection  as  it  were  under  a  roof. 


THE  KALMIA. 

THE  Kalmia,  on  account  of  its  superficial  resemblance 
to  the  green  bay-tree,  often  called  the  American  laurel, 
is  more  nearly  allied  to  the  heath.  The  name  of  Kalmia, 
which  is  more  musical  than  many  others  of  similar  deri- 
vation, was  given  to  this  genus  of  evergreen  shrubs  by 
Linnaeus,  in  honor  of  Peter  Kalm,  a  distinguished  bot- 
anist and  one  of  his  pupils.  This  is  exclusively  an 
American  family  of  plants,  containing  only  five  species, 
three  of  which  are  natives  of  New  England  soil  and 
two  of  them  among  our  most  common  shrubs. 

THE  MOUNTAIN  LAUREL. 

Not  one  of  our  native  shrubs  is  so  generally  admired 
as  the  Mountain  Laurel ;  no  other  equals  it  in  glowing 
and  magnificent  beauty.  But  the  "  patriots  "  who  plunder 
the  fields  of  its  branches  and  flowers  for  gracing  the  fes- 
tivities of  the  "glorious  Fourth"  will  soon  exterminate 
this  noble  plant  from  our  land.  There  are  persons  who 
never  behold  a  beautiful  object,  especially  if  it  be  a  flower 
or  a  bird,  without  wishing  to  destroy  it  for  some  selfish/ 
devout,  or  patriotic  purpose.  The  Mountain  Laurel  is  not 
so  showy  as  the  rhododendron,  with  its  deeper  crimson 
bloom  ;  but  nothing  can  exceed  the  minute  beauty  of  its 
individual  flowers,  the  neatness  of  their  structure,  and 
the  delicacy  of  their  shades  as  they  pass  from  rose-color 
to  white  on  different  bushes  in  the  same  group.  The 
flower  is  monopetalous,  expanded  to  a  cup  with  ten  an- 

6 


122  THE  KALMIA. 

gles  and  scalloped  edges.  "  At  the  circumference  of  the 
disk  on  the  inside,"  says  Darwin,  "  are  ten  depressions 
or  pits,  accompanied  with  corresponding  prominences  on 
the  outside.  In  these  depressions  the  anthers  are  found 
lodged  at  the  time  when  the  flower  expands.  The  stamens 
grow  from  the  base  of  the  corolla,  and  bend  outwardly,  so 
as  to  lodge  the  anthers  in  the  cells  of  the  corolla.  From 
this  confinement  they  liberate  themselves,  during  the 
period  of  flowering,  and  strike  against  the  sides  of  the 
stigma."  This  curious  internal  arrangement  of  parts 
renders  the  flower  very  beautiful  on  close  examination. 
The  flowers  are  arranged  in  flat  circular  clusters  at  the 
terminations  of  the  branches. 

We  seldom  meet  anything  in  the  forest  more  attractive 
than  the  groups  of  Mountain  Laurel,  which  often  cover 
extensive  slopes,  generally  appearing  on  the  edge  of  a 
wood,  and  becoming  more  scarce  as  they  extend  into  the 
interior  or  wander  outwardly  from  the  border.  But  if  we 
meet  with  an  opening  in  the  wood  where  the  soil  is  fa- 
vorable, —  some  little  sunny  dell  or  declivity,  —  another 
still  more  beautiful  group  opens  on  the  sight,  sometimes 
occupying  the  whole  space.  The  Mountain  Laurel  does 
not  constitute  the  undergrowth  of  any  family  of  trees, 
but  avails  itself  of  the  protection  of  a  wood  where  it 
can  flourish  without  being  overshadowed  by  it.  In  the 
groups  on  the  outside  of  the  wood,  the  flowers  are  usual- 
ly of  a  fine  rose-color,  fading  as  they  are  more  shaded, 
until  in  the  deep  forest  we  find  them,  and  the  buds  like- 
wise, of  a  pure  white.  I  am  not  acquainted  with  another 
plant  that  is  so  sensitive  to  the  action  of  light  upon  the 
color  of  its  flowers.  The  buds,  except  in  the  dark  shade, 
before  they  expand,  are  of  a  deeper  red  than  the  flowers, 
and  hardly  less  beautiful. 

The  Mountain  Laurel  delights  in  wet  places,  in 
springy  lands  on  rocky  declivities  where  there  is  an  ac- 


THE  KALMIA.  123 

cumulation  of  soil,  and  in  openings  surrounded  by  woods, 
where  the  land  is  not  a  bog,  but  wet  enough  to  abound 
in  ferns.  In  such  places  the  Kalmia,  with  its  bright 
evergreen  leaves,  forms  elegant  masses  of  shrubbery,  even 
when  it  is  not  in  flower.  Indeed,  its  foliage  is  hardly 
less  conspicuous  than  its  flowers.  I  believe  the  Kalmias 
are  not  susceptible  of  modification  by  the  arts  of  the 
florist.  Nature  has  endowed  them  with  a  perfection  that 
cannot  be  improved. 

THE   LOW  LAUEEL,   OR  LAMBKILL. 

The  low  Laurel,  or  small  Kalmia,  is  plainly  one  of  na- 
ture's favorite  productions ;  for,  the  wilder  and  ruder  the 
situation,  the  more  luxuriant  is  this  plant  and  the  more 
beautiful  are  its  flowers.  These  are  of  a  deep  rose-color, 
arranged  in  crowded  whorls  around  the  extremities  of  the 
branches,  with  the  recent  shoot  containing  a  tuft  of  newly 
formed  leaves  surmounting  each  cluster  of  flowers.  This 
plant,  through  not  celebrated  in  horticultural  literature  or 
song,  is  one  of  the  most  exquisite  productions  of  nature. 
Many  other  shrubs  which  are  more  showy  are  not  to  be 
compared  with  this  in  the  delicate  structure  of  its  flowers 
and  in  the  beauty  of  their  arrangement  and  colors.  Of 
this  species  the  most  beautiful  individuals  are  found  on 
the  outer  edge  of  their  groups. 

There  has  been  much  speculation  about  the  supposed 
poisonous  qualities  of  this  plant  and  its  allied  species. 
Nuttall  thought  its  flowers  the  source  of  the  deleterious 
honey  discovered  in  the  nests  of  certain  wild  bees.  There 
is  also  a  general  belief  that  its  leaves  are  poisonous  to 
cattle  and  flocks.  But  all  positive  evidence  is  wanting  to 
support  any  of  these  notions.  The  idea  associated  with 
the  name  of  this  species  is  a  vulgar  error  arising  from 
a  corruption  of  the  generic  name,  from  which  Lambkill 


124  THE  KALMIA. 

may  be  thus  derived,  —  Kalmia,  Kallamia,  Killamia, 
Killani,  Lambkill.  There  is  no  other  way  of  explain- 
ing the  origin  of  its  common  English  name.  I  have 
never  been  able  to  discover  an  authentic  account,  and 
have  never  known  an  instance  of  the  death  of  a  sheep 
or  a  lamb  from  eating  the  leaves  of  this  plant.  It  is  an 
error  having  its  origin  in  a  false  etymology ;  and  half  the 
notions  that  prevail  in  the  world  with  regard  to  the 
medical  virtues  and  other  properties  of  plants  have  a 
similar  foundation. 

It  is  stated  in  an  English  manual  of  Medical  Botany 
that  the  brown  powder  that  adheres  to  the  petioles  of  the 
different  species  of  Kalmia,  Andromeda,  and  Ehododendron 
is  used  by  the  North  American  Indians  as  snuff. 


MOTIONS   OF  TREES. 

WHILE  Nature,  in  the  forms  of  trees,  in  the  color  of 
their  foliage  and  the  gracefulness  of  their  spray,  has  dis- 
played a  great  variety  of  outline  and  tinting,  and  pro- 
vided a  constant  entertainment  for  the  sight,  she  has  in- 
creased their  attractions  by  endowing  them  with  a  differ- 
ent susceptibility  to  motion  from  the  action  of  the  winds. 
In  their  motions  we  perceive  no  less  variety  than  in  their 
forms.  The  different  species  differ  like  animals ;  some 
being  graceful  and  easy,  others  stiff  and  awkward ;  some 
calm  and  intrepid,  others  nervous  and  easily  agitated. 
Perhaps  with  stricter  analogy  we  might  compare  them  to 
human  beings  ;  for  we  find  trees  that  represent  the  man 
of  quiet  and  dignified  deportment,  also  the  man  of  ex- 
cited manners  and  rapid  gesticulations.  Some  trees,  like 
the  fir,  having  stiff  branches  and  foliage,  move  awkwardly 
backward  and  forward  in  the  wind,  without  any  separate 
motions  of  their  leaves.  While  we  admire  the  sym- 
metrical and  stately  forms  of  such  trees,  we  are  reminded 
of  men  who  present  a  noble  personal  appearance,  accom- 
panied with  ungainly  manners. 

Some  trees,  having  stiff  branches  with  flexible  leaves, 
do  not  bend  to  a  moderate  breeze,  but  their  foliage  readily 
yields  to  the  motion  of  the  wind.  This  habit  is  observed 
in  the  oak  and  the  ash,  in  all  trees  that  have  a  pendulous 
foliage  and  upright  or  horizontal  branches.  The  poplars 
possess  this  habit  in  a  remarkable  degree,  and  it  is  pro- 
verbial in  the  aspen.  It  is  also  conspicuous  in  the  com- 
mon pear-tree  and  in  the  small  white-birch.  Other  trees, 


126  MOTIONS   OF  TREES. 

like  the  American  elm,  wave  their  branches  gracefully, 
with  but  little  apparent  motion  of  their  leaves.  We  ob- 
serve the  same  habit  in  the  weeping  willow,  and  indeed 
in  all  trees  with  a  long  and  flexible  spray.  The  wind 
produces  by  its  action  on  these  a  general  sweeping  move- 
ment without  any  rustle.  It  is  easy  to  observe,  when 
walking  in  a  grove,  that  the  only  graceful  motions  come 
from  trees  with  drooping  branches,  because  these  alone 
are  long  and  slender. 

The  very  rapid  motion  of  the  leaves  of  the  aspen  has 
given  origin  to  some  remarkable  superstitions.  The 
Highlanders  of  Scotland  believe  the  wood  of  this  tree  to 
be  that  of  which  the  holy  cross  was  made,  and  that  its 
leaves  are  consequently  never  allowed  to  rest.  Impressed 
with  the  awfulness  of  the  tragedy  of  the  crucifixion,  they 
are  constantly  indicating  to  the  winds  the  terrors  that 
agitate  them.  The  small  white  birch  displays  consider- 
able of  the  same  motion  of  the  leaves  ;  but  we  take  little 
notice  of  it,  because  they  are  softer  and  produce  less 
of  a  rustling  sound.  The  flickering  lights  and  shadows 
observed  when  walking  under  these  trees,  on  a  bright 
noonday,  have  always  been  admired.  All  these  habits 
awaken  our  interest  in  trees  and  other  plants  by  assimi- 
lating them  to  animated  things. 

Much  of  the  beauty  of  the  silver  poplar  comes  from 
its  glittering  lights,  when  it  presents  the  green  upper 
surface  of  its  foliage,  alternating  rapidly  with  the  white 
silvery  surface  beneath.  This  we  may  readily  perceive 
even  in  cloudy  weather,  but  in  the  bright  sunshine  the 
contrasts  are  very  brilliant.  In  all  trees,  however,  we 
observe  this  glittering  beauty  of  motion  in  the  sun- 
shine. The  under  part  of  leaves  being  less  glossy  than 
the  upper  part,  there  is  in  the  assemblage  the  same 
tremulous  lustre  that  appears  on  the  rippled  surface  of  a 
lake  by  moonlight. 


MOTIONS   OF  TREES.  127 

We  observe  occasionally  other  motions  which  I  have  not 
described,  such  as  the  uniform  bending  of  the  whole  tree. 
In  a  strong  current  of  wind,  tall  and  slender  trees  es- 
pecially attract  our  attention  by  bending  over  uniform- 
ly like  a  pluuie.  This  habit  is  often  seen  in  the  white 
birch,  a  tree  that  in  its  usual  assemblages  takes  a  plume- 
like  form.  When  a  whole  grove  of  white  birches  is 
seen  thus  bending  over  in  one  direction  from  the  action 
of  a  brisk  wind,  they  seem  like  a  procession  of  living 
forms.  In  a  storm  we  watch  with  peculiar  interest  the 
bending  forms  of  certain  tall  elms,  such  as  we  often  see 
in  clearings,  with  their  heads  bowed  down  almost  to  the 
ground  by  the  force  of  the  tempest.  It  is  only  the  waves 
of  the  ocean  and  the  tossing  of  its  billows  that  can  afford 
us  so  vivid  an  impression  of  the  sublimity  of  a  tempest 
as  the  violent  swaying  of  a  forest  and  the  roaring  of 
the  winds  among  the  lofty  tree-tops. 

The  motions  of  an  assemblage  of  trees  cannot  be  ob- 
served except  from  a  stand  that  permits  us  to  look  down 
upon  the  surface  formed  by  their  summits.  We  should 
then  perceive  that  pines  and  firs,  with  all  the  stiffness  of 
their  branches,  display  a  great  deal  of  undulating  motion. 
These  undulations  or  wavy  movements  are  particularly 
graceful  in  a  grove  of  hemlocks,  when  they  are  densely 
assembled  without  being  crowded.  It  is  remarkable  that 
one  of  the  most  graceful  of  trees  belongs  to  a  family 
which  are  distinguished  by  their  stiffness  and  formality. 
The  hemlock,  unlike  other  firs  and  spruces,  has  a  very 
flexible  spray,  with  leaves  also  slightly  movable,  which 
are  constantly  sparkling  when  agitated  by  the  wind.  If 
we  look  down  from  an  opposite  point,  considerably  ele- 
vated, upon  a  grove  of  hemlocks  when  they  are  exposed 
to  brisk  currents  of  wind,  they  display  a  peculiar  undulat- 
ing movement  of  the  branches  and  foliage,  made  more 
apparent  by  the  glitter  of  their  leaves. 


128  MOTIONS   OF  TREES. 

The  surface  of  any  assemblage  of  trees  when  in  motion 
bears  a  close  resemblance  to  the  waves  of  the  sea.  But 
hemlocks  represent  its  undulations  when  greatly  agi- 
tated, without  any  broken  lines  upon  its  surface.  Other 
firs  display  in  their  motions  harsher  angles  and  a  some- 
what broken  surface  of  the  waves.  We  see  the  tops  of 
these  trees  and  their  extreme  branches  awkwardly  sway- 
ing backwards  and  forwards,  and  forming  a  surface  like 
that  of  the  sea  when  it  is  broken  by  tumultuous  waves 
of  a  moderate  height.  The  one  suggests  the  idea  of  tu- 
mult and  contention ;  the  other,  that  of  life  and  motion 
combined  with  serenity  and  peace. 


THE  TULIP-TKEE. 

THE  Tulip-tree  is  pronounced  by  Dr.  Bigelow  "  one  of 
the  noblest  trees,  both  in  size  and  beauty,  of  the  Ameri- 
can forest."  It  certainly  displays  the  character  of  im- 
mensity,— a  quality  not  necessarily  allied  with  those 
features  we  most  admire  in  landscape.  It  is  not  very 
unlike  the  Canada  poplar,  and  is  designated  by  the  name 
of  White  Poplar  in  the  Western  States.  The  foliage 
of  this  tree  has  been  greatly  extolled,  but  it  has  the 
heaviness  which  is  apparent  in  the  foliage  of  the  large- 
leaved  poplars,  without  its  tremulous  habit.  The  leaves, 
somewhat  palmate  in  their  shape,  are  divided  into  four 
pointed  lobes,  the  middle  rib  ending  abruptly,  as  if  the 
fifth  lobe  had  been  cut  off.  The  flowers,  which  are  beauti- 
ful, but  not  showy,  are  striped  with  green,  yellow,  and 
orange.  They  do  not  resemble  tulips,  however,  so  much 
as  the  flowers  of  the  abutilon  and  althea. 

This  tree  is  known  in  New  England  rather  as  an  orna- 
mental tree  than  as  a  denizen  of  the  forest.  Its  native 
habitats  are  nearly  the  same  with  those  of  the  magnolia, 
belonging  to  an  allied  family.  There  is  not  much  in  the 
proportions  of  this  tree  to  attract  our  admiration,  except 
its  size.  But  its  leaves  are  glossy  and  of  a  fine  dark 
green,  its  branches  smooth,  and  its  form  symmetrical.  It 
is  a  tree  that  agrees  very  well  with  dressed  grounds,  and 
its  general  appearance  harmonizes  with  the  insipidity  of 
artificial  landscape.  It  is  wanting  in  the  picturesque 
characters  of  the  oak  and  the  tupelo,  and  inferior  in  this 
respect  to  the  common  trees  of  our  forest. 

6*  I 


130  THE   MAGNOLIA. 


THE  MAGNOLIA. 

THE  Magnolia,  though,  excepting  one  species,  a  stranger 
to  New  England  soil,  demands  some  notice.  Any  one 
who  has  never  seen  the  trees  of  this  genus  in  their  na- 
tive soil  can  form  no  correct  idea  of  them.  I  would  not 
say,  however,  that  they  would  fall  short  of  his  concep- 
tions of  their  splendor.  When  I  first  beheld  one  of  the 
large  magnolias,  though  it  answered  to  my  previous  ideas 
of  its  magnificence,  I  thought  it  a  less  beautiful  tree  than 
the  Southern  cypress,  and  less  picturesque  than  the  live- 
oak,  the  black-walnut,  and  some  other  trees  I  saw  there. 
The  foliage  of  the  Magnolia  is  very  large  and  heavy,  and 
so  dark  as  to  look  gloomy.  It  is  altogether  too  sombre  a 
tree  in  the  open  landscape,  and  must  add  to  the  gloom  of 
any  wood  which  it  occupies,  without  yielding  to  it  any 
other  striking  character. 

There  are  several  species  of  Magnolia  cultivated  in 
pleasure-grounds,  the  selection  being  made  from  those 
bearing  a  profusion  of  flowers.  The  only  one  that  grows 
wild  in  New  England  is  of  small  stature,  sometimes 
called  the  Beaver-tree.  It  inhabits  a  swamp  near  Glou- 
cester, about  twenty  miles  from  Boston.  This  place  is  its 
northern  boundary.  The  flowers  are  of  a  dull  white, 
without  any  beauty,  but  possessed  of  a  very  agreeable 
fragrance,  causing  them  to  be  in  great  demand.  The 
Magnolia  wood  is  annually  stripped  both  of  flowers  and 
branches,  and  the  trees  will  probably  be  extirpated  before 
many  years  by  this  sort  of  vandalism. 


THE  PICTURESQUE. 

THE  picturesque  is  that  visible  quality  in  any  scene  or 
object  which,  without  positive  beauty,  awakens  an  agree- 
able sentiment ;  or,  in  other  words,  any  quality  in  an  ugly 
or  homely  scene  that  yields  it  the  charm  of  one  that  is 
beautiful.  The  picturesque  is,  indeed,  only  a  synonyme 
of  relative  beauty.  When  we  have  learned  the  connection 
between  certain  scenes  and  certain  interesting .  events  or 
incidents,  and  these  have  become  familiarly  associated' in 
our  minds,  we  may  be  affected  more  agreeably  by  the  sight 
of  them  than  by  the  most  beautiful  colors  and  forms.  But 
the  word  "  picturesque  "  cannot,  in  strict  accordance  with 
its  literal  meaning,  be  applied  to  scenes  of  indefinite  ex- 
tent. Properly  it  should  be  used  to  designate  only  limited 
portions  of  a  landscape,  capable  of  being  easily  embraced 
in  a  picture.  But  it  is  very  generally  applied  to  either 
narrow  or  extensive  prospects,  to  express  certain  qualities 
which  would  be  more  definitely  described  as  wild,  dreary, 
pastoral,  or  romantic.  Like  other  abstract  terms,  applied 
to  the  face  of  nature,  it  has  a  vague  signification,  and  con- 
veys a  poetical  rather  than  a  distinct  image  to  the  mind. 

Rudeness  seems  to  be  a  favorable  groundwork  for  the 
representation  of  rural  objects,  but  it  is  not  a  neces- 
sary ingredient  of  the  picturesque.  A  huge  rock  in  mid- 
ocean,  exposed  to  the  fury  of  winds  and  waves,  is  suffi- 
ciently rude,  but  it  would  require  certain  accompaniments 
to  render  it  poetical  or  interesting.  If  there  were  a  light- 
house upon  this  rock,  containing  one  solitary  family,  it 
would  partake  of  this  quality  in  a  high  degree ;  and  every 


132  THE  PICTURESQUE 

little  appurtenance  of  trees  and  shrubbery,  of  garden  and 
flower-beds,  and  of  domestic  animals,  would  heighten 
this  interest.  The  perilous  character  of  the  situation  pre- 
pares the  mind  to  sympathize  with  the  inhabitants  thus 
isolated  from  the  world  and  exposed  to  the  dangers  of 
the  sea.  The  rudeness  of  the  rock  increases  our  interest 
by  suggesting  the  simple  habits  of  the  occupants.  Kude- 
ness,  indeed,  is  commonly  a  heightening  of  the  picturesque, 
implying  the  absence  of  that  sort  of  cultivation  which  is 
associated  with  the  extremely  unpicturesque  objects  of 
fashion  and  pride. 

All  great  paintings  appeal  to  the  affections  of  the  hu- 
man heart  by  representing  a  single  scene  that  powerfully 
affects  the  sympathy  or  the  imagination.  A  solitary 
traveller  seeking  protection  in  a  cave  or  a  ruin  from  some 
besetting  danger,  and  a  group  of  sailors  exposed  on  a  raft 
in  mid-ocean,  are  sympathetic  pictures;  while  a  ruined 
temple  or  castle  appeals  to  the  imagination  and  to  our 
reverence  for  antiquity.  A  weary  pilgrim  by  the  way- 
side, leaning  on  his  staff,  is  a  scene  for  the  canvas,  while 
a  king  on  his  throne  is  adapted  only  to  the  dry  page  of 
the  historian.  But  let  this  king  be  dethroned,  and  seek 
protection  in  a  woodman's  hut,  and  he  becomes  in  that 
situation  one  of  the  most  affecting  subjects  for  painting 
or  romance.  As  soon  as  the  great  have  fallen  into  ad- 
versity, they  are  candidates  for  our  sympathy ;  and  we 
feel  the  more  interest  in  them  in  proportion  as  they  have 
fallen  from  a  lofty  eminence.  They  are  now  reduced  to 
the  common  level  of  fortune,  while  their  former  greatness 
seems  to  render  them  worthy  of  a  better  fate. 

Those  scenes  in  real  landscape,  as  well  as  in  paintings, 
yield  us  the  most  pleasure  which  are  comprised  within 
narrow  limits.  Panoramas  are  seldom  very  interesting. 
As  our  vision  is  extended  beyond  certain  bounds,  we  ap- 
proach more  nearly  to  views  that  awaken  a  sense  of 


THE  PICTURESQUE.  133 

dreariness  or  grandeur.  When  ascending  a  mountain 
we  are  commonly  affected  with  the  most  pleasure  by 
viewing  some  limited  prospect  from  a  small  altitude. 
An  opening  in  a  wood  reveals  a  single  farm-house,  with 
its  outbuildings,  its  green  and  yellow  fields  of  tillage, 
flocks  grazing  on  the  opposite  slope,  and  here  and  there 
a  human  being  engaged  in  some  pleasant  occupation.  As 
we  continue  our  ascent,  this  farm  and  cottage  soon  be- 
come an  insignificant  portion  of  an  almost  boundless 
variety  of  objects.  The  attention  now  becomes  unfixed. 
The  mind  rests  agreeably  on  no  particular  scene,  but  is 
somewhat  exhilarated  by  the  grandeur  of  the  whole  pros- 
pect. The  spectacle  is  no  longer  picturesque :  it  is  wild, 
rude,  desolate,  or  sublime ;  but  there  is  nothing  in  it  that 
awakens  the  sympathetic  interest  excited  by  the  first 
limited  view  of  the  farm  and  cottage. 

A  scene  in  real  nature,  to  be  picturesque,  must  be  sug- 
gestive ;  and  in  a  picture  or  in  a  poem  we  must  not  be 
presented  with  all  which  the  poet  or  the '  artist  would 
suggest  to  the  mind.  By  this  law  of  agreeable  effects 
we  may  account  for  the  pleasantness  of  a  crooked  or 
winding  road  and  the  tiresomeness  of  a  straight  road, 
which,  by  displaying  the  approaching  scenes  to  view, 
leaves  nothing  to  the  imagination.  The  picturesque 
quality  of  an  object  is  made  up  in  great  part  of  its  sug- 
gestiveness  of  agreeable  images  not  beheld ;  the  "  evidence 
of  things  not  seen,"  and  those  of  an  interesting  nature. 
And  if  it  be  a  picture,  the  ideal  perfection  of  the  work 
depends  on  an  ingenious  selection  of  those  points  which 
call  up  the  most  charming  images  in  the  mind. 

Something  of  human  interest  must  be  associated  with 
a  scene  in  nature  to  render  it  picturesque  in  the  highest 
degree.  A  rude  scene,  without  qualifying  accompaniments, 
reminds  us  only  of  waste  and  discomfort.  To  afford  it  a 
sympathetic  character,  there  should  be  added  a  little  hut, 


134  THE  PICTURESQUE. 

a  stranded  vessel,  a  grave,  a  monument,  or  some  other 
object  allied  to  humanity.  The  sea  itself,  with  all  its 
grandeur  and  sublimity,  is  not  picturesque ;  but  it  is 
rendered  such  by  a  ship  or  a  lighthouse.  There  is  noth- 
ing of  this  quality  in  a  naked  representation  of  the 
polar  ices;  but  add  two  graves  and  headstones  to  the 
scene,  as  discovered  in  a  late  Arctic  Expedition,  and 
the  sorrowful  human  interest  thus  associated  with  it  ren- 
ders it  picturesque  beyond  all  other  objects.  The  most 
remarkable  scene  in  nature,  if  exhibited  in  a  painting, 
without  some  domestic  animal  or  human  being,  a  cottage, 
or  some  simple  work  of  human  hands,  would  be  cold  and 
unaffecting.  Thus  in  poetic  descriptions  of  Xature,  she 
is  personified  to  increase  our  interest.  We  personify  the 
sun,  the  moon,  the  seasons,  the  months,  and  the  hours. 
The  personification  likewise  of  abstract  ideas,  by  linking 
them  with  humanity,  causes  them  to  take  a  stronger  hold 
on  the  imagination. 

Hence  we  may  account  for  the  introduction  of  many 
circumstances  into  pictures,  that  seem  trifling  and  insig- 
nificant. Of  all  things  in  the  world,  if  considered  with- 
out reference  to  other  objects,  smoke  is  the  last  we  should 
call  picturesque.  But  as  the  beauty  of  all  this  class  of 
objects  is  merely  relative,  smoke,  when  issuing  on  a  still 
morning  from  the  chimney  of  a  cottage,  renders  it  more 
lively  and  poetical,  by  indicating  that  it  is  inhabited  and 
that  its  inmates  are  stirring  within,  and  thereby  increas- 
ing its  expression  of  humanity.  One  of  Moore's  songs 
owes  its  popularity  to  a  picturesque  allusion  to  smoke 
in  the  first  stanza :  — 

"  I  knew  by  the  smoke  that  so  gracefully  curled 
Above  the  green  elms,  that  a  cottage  was  near  ; 
And  I  said,  '  If  there  's  peace  to  be  found  in  the  world, 
The  heart  that  is  humble  might  hope  for  it  here.' " 

Some  writers  refer  the  pleasure  derived  from  the  sight 


THE  PICTURESQUE.  '  135 

of  smoke  to  "  the  waving  line  of  beauty."  This  is  but 
the  cant  of  metaphysical  pedants,  who  delight  in  tracing 
effects  to  inadequate  causes.  As  well  might  we  refer  the 
emotions  we  feel  when  watching  the  lightning  that  flashes 
through  a  dark  cloud  to  "  the  zigzag  line  of  sublimity." 
The  waving  line,  or  any  other  line  of  beauty,  must  be 
associated  with  some  agreeable  sentiment,  or  it  is  nothing. 
There  is  no  positive  beauty  in  smoke.  It  owes  the 
interest  it  awakens  entirely  to  association.  Even  when 
it  ascends  spirally  from  a  mere  brick-kiln,  its  beauty 
comes  from  its  indication  of  the  pleasant  serenity  of  the 
atmosphere,  that  saves  it  from  blending  into  a  formless 
mass,  not  from  the  character  of  the  figure  it  displays. 

To  a  boor  nothing  is  either  poetical  or  picturesque. 
No  object  is  attractive  to  him  that  does  not  either  dazzle 
his  eyes  or  excite  his  astonishment.  Scenes  that  would 
suggest  a  thousand  delightful  images  to  a  man  of  culti- 
vated imagination  are  to  the  boor  a  mere  blank.  To  him 
a  rock,  a  tree,  and  a  house  have  no  connection  with  senti- 
ment. If  the  rock  does  not  reach  to  the  clouds,  if  the 
tree  does  not  rear  itself  stupendously  into  the  air,  or  if 
the  house  is  not  magnificent  in  size  or  embellishments, 
they  are  nothing  to  him,  because  they  excite  no  admira- 
tion. But  to  a  man  of  feeling  a  mere  hovel  awakens 
the  most  agreeable  fancies,  and  a  sheepfold  may  cause 
more  interest  than  a  palace.  A  rock  presents  him  with  a 
whole  field  of  natural  curiosities,  and  a  tree  becomes  an 
object  under  whose  shade  he  may  revive  a  long  train  of 
studious  recreations. 


THE  LOCUST. 

THE  waysides  in  the  Middle  States  do  not  contain  a 
more  beautiful  tree  than  the  Locust,  with  its  profusion  of 
pinnate  leaves  and  racemes  of  flowers  that  fill  the  air 
with  the  most  agreeable  odors.  In  New  England  the 
Locust  is  subject  to  the  ravages  of  so  many  different 
insects  that  it  is  commonly  stinted  in  its  growth,  its 
branches  withered  and  broken,  and  its  symmetry  destroyed. 
But  the  deformities  produced  by  the  decay  of  some  of 
its  important  limbs  cannot  efface  the  charm  of  its  fine 
pensile  foliage.  In  winter  it  seems  devoid  of  all  those 
proportions  we  admire  in  other  trees.  It  rears  its  tall 
form,  withered,  shapeless,  and  deprived  of  many  valuable 
parts,  without  proportional  breadth,  and  wanting  in  any 
definite  character  of  outline.  Through  all  the  early 
weeks  of  spring  we  might  still  suppose  it  would  never 
recover  its  beauty.  But  May  hangs  on  those  withered 
boughs  a  green  drapery  that  hides  all  their  deformity ; 
she  infuses  into  their  foliage  a  perfection  of  verdure  that 
no  other  tree  can  rival,  and  a  beauty  in  the  forms  of  its 
leaves  that  renders  it  one  of  the  chief  ornaments  of 
the  groves  and  waysides.  June  weaves  into  this  green 
leafage  pendent  clusters  of  flowers  of  mingled  brown  and 
white,  filling  the  air  with  fragrance,  and  enticing  the  bee 
with  odors  as  sweet  as  from  groves  of  citron  and  myrtle. 

The  finely  cut  and  delicate  foliage  of  the  Locust  and 
its  jewelled  white  flowers,  hanging  gracefully  among  its 
dark  green  leaves,  yield  it  a  peculiar  style  of  beauty,  and 
remind  us  of  some  of  the  finer  vegetation  of  the  tropics. 


TTTi 

more  1 
with  t: 

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• 

' 
no  othc 

. 
with  odor* 

The  li. 
its  jewelled 

- 


EELATIONS  OF  TKEES  TO  THE  ATMOSPHERE. 

I  HAVE  not  much  faith  in  the  science  of  ignorant  men  ; 
for  the  foundations  of  all  knowledge  are  laid  in  books  ; 
and  those  only  who  have  read  and  studied  much  can 
possess  any  considerable  store  of  wisdom.  But  there  are 
philosophers  among  laboring  swains,  whose  quaint  obser- 
vations and  solutions  of  nature's  problems  are  sometimes 
worthy  of  record.  With  these  men  of  untutored  genius 
I  have  had  considerable  intercourse,  and  hence  I  oftener 
quote  them  than  the  learned  and  distinguished,  whom  I 
have  rarely  met.  The  ignorant,  from  want  of  knowledge, 
are  always  theorists  ;  but  genius  affords  its  possessor,  how 
small  soever  his  acquisitions,  some  glimpses  of  truth  which 
may  be  entirely  hidden  from  the  mere  pedant  in  science. 
My  philosophic  friend,  a  man  of  genius  born  to  the 
plough,  entertained  a  theory  in  regard  to  the  atmosphere, 
which,  though  not  strictly  philosophical,  is  so  ingenious 
and  suggestive  that  I  have  thought  an  account  of  it  a 
good  introduction  to  this  essay. 

My  friend,  when  explaining  his  views,  alluded  to  the 
well-known  fact  that  plants  growing  in  an  aquarium 
keep  the  water  supplied  with  atmospheric  air  —  not  with 
simple  oxygen,  but  with  oxygen  chemically  combined 
with  nitrogen  —  by  some  vital  process  that  takes  place  in 
the  leaves  of  plants.  As  the  lungs  of  aninials  decompose 
the  air  which  they  inspire,  and  breathe  out  carbonic-acid 
gas,  plants  in  their  turn  decompose  this  deleterious  gas, 
and  breathe  out  pure  atmospheric  air.  His  theory  is 
that  the  atmosphere  is  entirely  the  product  of  vegetation, 


140     RELATION  OF  TREES  TO  THE  ATMOSPHERE. 

and  that  nature  has  no  other  means  of  composing  it ;  that 
it  is  not  simply  a  chemical,  but  a  vital  product ;  and  that 
its  production,  like  its  preservation,  depends  entirely  on 
plants,  and  would  be  impossible  without  their  agency. 
But  as  all  plants  united  are  not  equal  in  bulk  to  the 
trees,  it  may  be  truly  averred  that  any  series  of  opera- 
tions or  accidents  that  should  deprive  the  earth  entirely 
of  its  forests  would  leave  the  atmosphere  without  a  source 
for  its  regeneration. 

The  use  of  the  foliage  of  trees  in  renovating  the  at- 
mosphere is  not,  I  believe,  denied  by  any  man  of  science. 
This  theory  has  been  proved  to  be  true  by  experiments  in 
vital  chemistry.  The  same  chemical  appropriation  of 
gases  and  transpiration  of  oxygen  is  performed  by  all 
classes  of  vegetables ;  but  any  work  in  the  economy  of 
nature  assigned  to  vegetation  is  the  most  effectually  ac- 
complished by  trees.  The  property  of  foliage  that  requires 
carbonic-acid  gas  for  its  breathing  purposes,  and  causes  it 
to  give  out  oxygen,  is  of  vital  importance ;  and  it  is  hardly 
to  be  doubted  that  a  close  room  well  lighted  by  the  sun 
would  sustain  its  healthful  atmosphere  a  longer  time,  if 
it  were  filled  with  plants  in  leaf,  but  not  in  flower,  and 
occupied  by  breathing  animals,  than  if  the  animals  occu- 
pied it  without  the  plants. 

But  there  is  another  function  performed  by  the  foliage 
of  trees  and  herbs  in  which  no  chemical  process  is  in- 
volved, —  that  of  exhaling  moisture  into  the  atmosphere 
after  it  has  been  absorbed  by  the  roots.  Hence  the 
humidity  of  this  element  is  greatly  dependent  on  foliage. 
A  few  simple  experiments  will  show  how  much  more 
rapidly  and  abundantly  this  evaporation  takes  place  when 
the  soil  is  covered  with  growing  plants  than  when  the 
surface  is  bare.  Take  two  teacups  of  equal  size  and  fill 
them  with,  water.  Place  them  on  a  table,  and  insert  into 
one  of  them  cuttings  of  growing  plants  with  their  leaves, 


RELATIONS   OF  TREES  TO   THE  ATMOSPHERE.         141 

and  let  the  other  stand  with  water  only.  In  a  few  hours 
the  water  will  disappear  from  the  cup  containing  the 
plants,  while  that  in  the  other  cup  will  not  be  sensibly 
diminished.  Indeed,  there  is  reason  to  believe  that  gal- 
lons of  water  might  be  evaporated  into  the  air  by  keep- 
ing the  cup  containing  the  cuttings  always  full,  before 
the  single  gill  contained  in  the  other  cup  would  dis- 
appear. If  a  few  cuttings  will  evaporate  a  half-pint  of 
water  in  twelve  hours,  we  can  imagine  the  vast  quantity 
constantly  exhaled  into  the  atmosphere  by  a  single  tree. 
The  largest  steam-boiler  in  use,  kept  constantly  boiling, 
would  not  probably  evaporate  more  water  than  one  large 
elm  in  the  same  time. 

We  may  judge,  from  our  experiment  with  the  cuttings, 
that  a  vastly  greater  proportion  of  moisture  would  be  ex- 
haled into  the  atmosphere  from  any  given  surface  of  ground 
when  covered  with  vegetation,  than  from  the  same  amount 
of  uncovered  surface,  or  even  of  standing  water.  Plants' 
are  indeed  the  most  important  existing  agents  of  nature 
for  conveying  the  moisture  of  the  earth  into  the  air.  The 
quantity  of  transpiring  foliage  from  a  dense  assemblage 
of  trees  must  be  immense.  The  evaporation  of  water 
from  the  vast  ocean  itself  is  probably  small  compared 
with  that  from  the  land  which  it  surrounds.  And  there 
is  reason  to  believe  that  the  water  evaporated  from  the 
ocean  would  not  produce  rain  enough  to  sustain  vegeta- 
tion, if  by  any  accident  every  continent  and  island  were 
deprived  of  its  trees.  The  whole  earth  would  soon  be- 
come a  desert.  I  would  remark,  in  this  place,  that  trees 
are  the  agents  by  which  the  superfluous  waters  of  the 
ocean,  as  they  are  supplied  by  rivers  emptying  into  it,  are 
restored  to  the  atmosphere  and  thence  again  to  the  sur- 
face of  the  earth.  Trees  pump  up  from  great  depths  the 
waters  as  they  ooze  into  the  soil  from  millions  of  sub- 
terranean ducts  ramifying  in  all  directions  from  the  bed 
of  the  ocean. 


142  RELATIONS   OF   TKEES   TO   THE  ATMOSPHERE. 

We  see  a  double  system  of  operations  carried  on  in- 
visibly by  trees  and  other  plants.  By  them  the  moist- 
ure of  the  earth  is  distilled  into  the  air,  where  it  is  con- 
verted into  clouds,  and  returned  to  the  earth  again  in 
the  form  of  dews  and  rain.  Every  fall  of  rain  purifies 
the  air  through  which  it  descends,  and  carries  down  with 
it  into  the  soil  a  fresh  supply  of  azote  and  oxygenated 
air,  which  is  needful  to  the  roots  of  the  plants.  This 
constant  exhalation  and  absorption  resembles  the  breath- 
ing of  animals,  except  that  with  plants  inspiration  and 
expiration  are  simultaneous,  and  not  alternate.  I  would 
venture  to  say  that  when  the  sciences  of  vital  chemistry 
and  vegetable  meteorology  are  carried  to  perfection,  the 
fruitfulness  of  any  region  below  the  Arctic  Circle  may  be 
established  and  preserved  by  the  systematic  operations 
of  man  upon  the  forest. 

In  all  temperate  latitudes  where  man  has  not  counter- 
acted the  efforts  of  Nature  by  his  own  works,  she  has 
covered  the  land  with  forest  as  the  most  effectual  means 
of  preserving  a  constant  circulation  of  moisture  between 
the  earth,  the  atmosphere,  and  the  ocean.  But  this  primi- 
tive condition  of  the  earth  is  not  the  one  most  favorable 
to  the  wants  of  civilized  man.  There  is  a  certain  rela- 
tive disposition,  as  >well  as  proportion  of  wood,  pasture, 
and  tillage,  that  would  improve  the  climate  for  man's  pur- 
poses, and  another  that  would  injure  it.  Nature  clothes 
all  parts  with  trees,  and  leaves  it  to  man  to  improve  or  to 
ruin  the  climate,  according  as  he  is  wise  or  stupid.  Nations 
in  most  cases  have  ruined  it,  and  then  sunk  into  barbar- 
ism ;  for  civilization  has  never,  in  any  country,  long  sur- 
vived the  destruction  of  its  forests. 


THE  HOLLY. 

As  the  hawthorn  is  consecrated  to  vernal  festivities,  the 
Holly  is  sacred  to  those  of  winter,  and  the  yew  to  those 
attending  the  burial  of  the  dead.  In  Europe,  from  the 
earliest  ages,  the  Holly  has  been  employed  for  the  decora- 
tion of  churches  during  Christmas.  The  poets  have  made 
it  a  symbol  of  forethought,  because  its  leaves  are  saved 
from  the  browsing  of  animals  by  the  thorns  that  surround 
them;  and  the  berries,  concealed  by  its  prickly  foliage, 
are  preserved  for  the  use  of  the  winter  birds.  The  Holly 
is  found  only  in  the  southern  parts  of  New  England.  In 
Connecticut  it  is  common,  and  in  the  Middle  and  Southern 
States  it  is  a  tree  of  third  magnitude.  The  leaves  of  the 
Holly  are  .slightly  sinuate  or  scalloped,  and  furnished  at 
each  point  with  short  spines.  It  not  only  retains  its 
foliage  in  the  winter,  but  it  loses  none  of  that  brilliancy 
of  verdure  that  distinguishes  it  at  other  seasons. 

There  seems  to  be  no  very  notable  difference  between 
the  American  and  European  Holly.  Selby  says  of  the 
ktter :  "  The  size  which  the  Holly  frequently  attains  in 
a  state  of  nature,  as  well  as  when  under  cultivation,  its 
beauty  and  importance  in  forest  and  woodland  scenery, 
either  as  a  ^secondary  tree  or  merely  as  an  underwood 
shrub,  justify  our  placing  it  among  the  British  forest 
trees  of  the  second  rank."  He  adds :  "  As  an  ornamental 
evergreen,  whether  in  the  form  of  a  tree  or  as  an  under- 
growth, the  Holly  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  we  possess. 
The  deep  green  glittering  foliage  contrasts  admirably 
with  the  rich  coral  hue  of  its  berries'." 


144  THE  SPHLEA. 


THE   SPIR^A. 

IN  the  month  of  July  the  wooded  pastures  are  varie- 
gated with  little  groups  of  shrubbery  full  of  delicate 
white  blossoms  in  compound  pyramidal  clusters,  attract- 
ing more  attention  from  a  certain  downy  softness  in  their 
appearance  than  from  their  beauty.  These  plants  have 
received  the  name  of  Spiraea  from  the  spiry  arrangement 
of  their  flowers.  The  larger  species  among  our  wild 
plants,  commonly  known  as  the  Meadow-Sweet,  in  some 
places  as  Bridewort,  is  very  frequent  on  little  tussocks 
and  elevations  rising  out  of  wet  soil.  It  is  a  slender 
branching  shrub,  bearing  a  profusion  of  small,  finely 
serrate  and  elegant  leaves,  extending  down  almost  to 
the  roots,  and  a  compound  panicle  of  white  impurpled 
flowers  at  the  ends  of  the  branches.  It  is  well  known  to 
to  all  who  are  familiar  with  the  wood-scenery  of  New 
England,  and  is  seen  growing  abundantly  in  whortle- 
berry pastures,  in  company  with  the  small  kalmia  and 
the  swamp  rose.  It  is  a  very  free  bloomer,  lasting  from 
June  till  September,  often  blending  a  few  solitary  spikes 
of  delicate  flowers  with  the  tinted  foliage  of  autumn. 


THE  HAKDHACK. 

The  flowers  of  the  purple  Spiraea,  or  Hardback,  are  con- 
spicuous by  roadsides,  especially  where  they  pass  over 
wet  grounds.  It  delights  in  the  borders  of  rustic  wood- 
paths,  in  lanes  that  conduct  from  the  enclosures  of  some 
farm  cottage  to  the  pasture,  growing  all  along  under  the 
loose  stone-wall,  where  its  crimson  spikes  may  be  seen 
waving  in  the  wind  with  the  nodding  plumes  of  the 
golden-rod  and  the  blue  spikes  of  the  vervain,  well 
known  as  the  "  Simpler's  Joy."  The  Hardback  affords  no 


THE  HAWTHORN.  145 

less  pleasure  to  the  simpler,  who  has  used  its  flowers  from 
immemorial  time  as  an  astringent  anodyne.  There  is 
no  beauty  in  any  part  of  this  plant,  except  its  pale  crim- 
son flowers,  which  are  always  partially  faded  at  the  ex- 
tremity or  unopened  at  the  base,  so  that  a  perfect  cluster 
cannot  be  found.  The  leaves  are  of  a  pale  imperfect 
green  on  the  upper  surface  and  almost  white  beneath, 
and  without  any  beauty.  The  uprightness  of  this  plant, 
and  the  spiry  form  of  its  floral  clusters,  has  gained  it  the 
name  of  "  Steeplebush,"  from  our  church-going  ancestors. 


THE  HAWTHORN. 

FEW  trees  have  received  a  greater  tribute  of  praise 
from  poets  and  poetical  writers  than  the  Hawthorn, 
which  in  England  especially  is  consecrated  to  the  pastoral 
muse  and  to  all  lovers  of  rural  life.  The  Hawthorn  is 
also  a  tree  of  classical  celebrity.  Its  flowers  and  branches 
were  used  by  the  ancient  Greeks  at  wedding  festivities, 
and  laid  upon  the  altar  of  Hymen  in  the  floral  games  of 
May,  with  which  from  the  earliest  times  it  has  been  as- 
sociated. In  England  it  is  almost  as  celebrated  as  the 
'rose,  and  constitutes  the  most  admired  hedge-plant  of 
that  country.  It  is,  indeed,  the  beauty  of  this  shrub  that 
forms  the  chief  attraction  of  the  English  hedge-rows, 
which  are  not  generally  clipped,  but  allowed  to  run  up 
and  bear  flowers.  These  are  the  principal  beauties  of  the 
plant ;  for  its  leaves  are  neither  luxuriant  nor  flowing. 

The  Hawthorn  in  this  country  is  not  associated  with 
hedge-rows,  which  with  us  are  only  matters  of  pride 
and  fancy,  not  of  necessity,  and  their  formal  clipping 
causes  them  to  resemble  nature  only  as  a  wooden  post 
resembles  a  tree.  Our  admiration  of  the  Hawthorn, 

7  j 


146  THE  HAWTHOKN. 

therefore,  comes  from  a  pleasant  tradition  derived  from 
England,  through  the  literature  of  that  country,  where  it 
is  known  by  the  name  of  May-bush,  from  its  connection 
with  the  floral  festivities  of  May.  The  May-pole  of  the 
south  of  England  is  always  garlanded  with  its  flowers, 
as  crosses  are  with  holly  at  Christmas.  The  Hawthorn 
is  well  known  in  this  country,  though  unassociated  with 
any  of  our  rural  customs.  Many  of  its  species  are  in- 
digenous in  America,  and  surpass  those  of  Europe  in  the 
beauty  of  their  flowers  and  fruit.  They  are  considered 
the  most  ornamental  of  the  small  trees  in  English  gar- 
dens. 

The  flowers  of  the  Hawthorn  are  mostly  white,  varying 
in  different  species  through  all  the  shades  of  pink,  from 
a  delicate  blush-color  to  a  pale  crimson.  The  fruit  varies 
from  yellow  to  scarlet.  The  leaves  are  slightly  cleft,  like 
those  of  the  oak  and  the  holly.  The  flowers  are  pro- 
duced in  great  abundance,  and  emit  an  agreeable  odor, 
which  is  supposed  by  the  peasants  of  Europe  to  be  an 
antidote  to  poison. 


SUMMER  WOOD-SCENERY. 

I  HAVE  alluded  to  a  beneficent  law  of  Nature,  that 
causes  her  to  waste  no  displays  of  sublimity  or  beauty 
by  making  them  either  lasting  or  common.  Before  the 
light  of  morn  is  sufficient  to  make  any  objects  distinctly 
visible,  it  displays  a  beauty  of  its  own,  beginning  with 
a  faint  violet,  and  melting  through  a  succession  of  hues 
into  the  splendor  of  meridian  day.  It  remains  through  the 
day  mere  white  transparent  light,  disclosing  the  infinite 
forms  and  colors  of  the  landscape,  being  itself  only  the 
cause  that  renders  everything  visible.  When  at  the 
decline  of  day  it  fades,  just  in  the  same  ratio  as  substan- 
tial objects  grow  dim  and  undiscernible,  this  unsubstantial 
light  once  more  becomes  beautiful,  painting  itself  in  soft, 
tender,  and  glowing  tints  upon  the  clouds  and  the  atmos- 
phere. Similar  phenomena  attend  both  the  opening  and 
the  decline  of  the  year.  Morning  is  the  spring,  with  its 
pale  and  delicate  tints  that  gradually  change  into  the 
universal  green  that  marks  the  landscape  in  summer, 
when  the  characterless  brilliancy  of  noonday  is  repre- 
sented on  the  face  of  the  land.  Autumn  is  emblemized 
by  the  departing  tints  of  sunset ;  and  thus  the  day  and 
the  year  equally  display  the  beneficence  of  Nature  in  the 
gradual  approach  and  decline  of  the  beauty  and  the 
splendor  that  distinguish  them. 

The  flowering  of  the  forest  is  the  conclusion  of  the 
beautiful  phenomena  of  spring,  and  summer  cannot  be 
said  to  begin  until  we  witness  the  full  expansion  of  its 
foliage.  In  the  early  part  of  the  season  each  tree  dis- 


148  SUMMER  WOOD-SCENERY. 

plays  modifications  of  verdure  peculiar,  not  only  to  the 
species,  but  to  the  individual  and  the  situation,  and 
hardly  two  trees  in  the  wood  are  shaded  alike.  As 
the  foliage  ripens,  the  different  shades  of  green  become 
more  thoroughly  blended  into  one  universal  hue;  and 
this  uniformity,  when  perfected,  distinguishes  the  true 
summer  phase  of  vegetation.  As  summer  advances,  this 
monotony  increases  until  near  its  close.  The  only  trees 
that  variegate  the  prospect  are  the  evergreens,  by  their 
darker  and  more  imperfect  verdure,  and  one  or  two  rare 
species,  like  the  catalpa  and  ailantus,  which  display  a 
lighter  and  more  lively  green,  resembling  the  verdure  of 
early  summer. 

It  may  be  said,  however,  in  behalf  of  summer,  that 
no  other  season  affords  so  good  an  opportunity  to  note  the 
different  effects  of  sun  and  shade  in  the  foliage  of  the 
woods  and  fields.  The  leaves  of  the  trees  and  grass  are 
never  so  beautiful  in  their  summer  dress  as  they  appear 
during  the  hour  preceding  sunset,  when  we  view  them 
with  the  sun  shining  obliquely  toward  us.  All  foliage  is 
more  or  less  transparent,  and  the  rays  of  the  sun,  made 
slightly  golden  by  the  refraction  of  the  atmosphere,  com- 
municate a  brilliant  yellow  tinge  to  the  leaves,  as  they 
shine  through  them.  The  same  effects  are  not  produced 
by  reflection ;  for  if  we  look  away  from  the  sun,  the 
foliage  and  grass  present  a  much  less  attractive  appear- 
ance. A  few  hours  after  noonday,  before  the  sunlight 
is  yellowed  by  refraction,  we  may  study  these  phenom- 
ena more  minutely.  When  we  look  in  the  direction  of 
the  light,  as  I  have  just  remarked,  we  see  the  least 
variety  of  light  and  shade  ;  for  as  every  leaf  is  an  im- 
perfect mirror,  the  surface  of  the  forest  presents  a  glitter 
that  throws  a  glazed  and  whitish  appearance  over  the 
green  of  the  foliage.  The  whole  is  a  mere  glare,  so  that 
the  landscape  is  almost  without  expression  when  viewed 


SUMMER  WOOD-SCENERY.  149 

in  this  manner,  and  all  the  tiresome  uniformity  of  sum- 
mer verdure  is  aggravated.  The  only  relief  for  the  eye 
comes  from  the  shadows  of  isolated  trees  and  small  forest 
groups  as  they  are  cast  upon  the  ground. 

Now  let  us  turn  our  eyes  in  an  opposite  direction.  To 
obtain  the  best  view,  we  should  look  obliquely  toward  the 
sun.  Then  do  we  behold  a  magnificent  blending  of  light 
and  shade ;  for  every  mass  of  foliage  has  a  dark  shadow 
beneath  it,  forming  a  more  appreciable  contrast  on  ac- 
count of  the  intense  brilliancy,  without  glitter,  caused 
by  the  illumination  of  every  leaf  by  the  sunlight  shining 
through  it.  Under  these  circumstances  we  can  once 
more  distinguish  species,  to  some  extent,  by  their  colors. 
We  shall  soon  discover  that  trees  which  have  a  thin 
corrugated  leaf,  without  gloss,  make  the  most  brilliant 
spectacle  when  viewed  in  this  manner.  Nothing  can 
surpass  the  foliage  of  the  elm,  the  lime,  the  maple,  and 
the  birch  in  this  peculiar  splendor.  But  trees  like  the 
poplar,  the  tulip-tree,  the  oak,  and  the  willow,  having  a 
leaf  of  a  firmer  texture  and  less  diaphanous,  look  com- 
paratively dull  under  the  same  circumstances. 

I  would  repeat  that  the  true  summer  phase  of  wood- 
scenery  is  that  which  succeeds  the  flowering  of  the  forest, 
when  all  the  different  greens  have  faded  into  one  dark 
shade  of  verdure.  There  is  no  longer  that  marked  and 
beautiful  variety  which  is  displayed  before  the  maturity 
of  the  leaves.  Summer  is  not,  therefore,  the  painter's  sea- 
son. It  is  dull  and  tame  compared  even  with  winter, 
when  regarded  as  a  subject  for  the  brush  or  the  pencil, 
and  especially  when  compared  with  spring  and  autumn. 
Summer  is  the  time  for  the  observations  of  the  botanist, 
not  for  those  of  the  picturesque  rambler ;  for  beneath  this 
sylvan  mass  of  monotonous  verdure  the  sods  are  covered 
with  an  endless  variety  of  herbs  and  flowers,  surpassing 
in  beauty  those  of  any  other  season. 


150  SUMMER  WOOD-SCENERY. 

But  the  flowers  are  far  from  being  conspicuous.  The 
bright-colored  species  are  not  sufficiently  profuse  to  modify 
a  general  view  of  the  landscape.  Indeed,  the  uniformly 
dark  shade  of  green  pervading  every  scene  after  midsum- 
mer is  not  relieved  until  near  the  end  of  August,  when 
the  golden-rods  appear  and  diffuse  a  yellow  lambent  hue 
over  the  borders  of  fields  and  brooksides,  multiplying  day 
by  day  until  their  colors  are  universal.  The  golden-rods 
are  indeed  the  harbingers  of  "  yellow  autumn."  Their 
hues  are  the  dawning  of  that  splendor  which  from  this 
period  gradually  overspreads  the  face  of  nature. 

In  a  summer  forest  scene,  the  evergreen  woods  are  the 
principal  enliveners  of  its  monotony.  Even  the  dingy 
hues  of  the  juniper  and  cypress  become  by  position  the 
beautifiers  of  the  landscape,  acting  as  a  foil  to  the 
deciduous  trees,  and  causing  .their  verdure  to  be  more 
striking.  The  homely  pitch-pine  always  pleasantly  modi- 
fies the  drowsy  effect  of  a  deciduous  wood,  as  the  monot- 
ony of  sweet  music  is  enlivened  by  occasional  interludes 
of  harsh,  if  not  discordant  strains.  Such  is  the  effect  of 
scattered  groups  of  evergreens.  The  sameness  of  summer 
forest  scenery  cannot  be  as  great  as  I  have  described  it, 
if  there  be  a  goodly  share  of  coniferous  trees.  Few  forest 
scenes  are  more  striking  than  a  deciduous  wood  in  July, 
all  green  and  lustrous  in  the  sunshine  of  noonday,  with 
frequent  groups  of  white  pine  towering  above  the  general 
level,  and  spreading  out  their  summits  of  dark  green 
foliage  like  natives  of  another  clime.  Imagine,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  beauty  and  effulgence  of  a  little  grove  of 
white  birches  and  tremulous  poplars  with  their  white 
and  shining  branches  and  trunks,  their  fluttering  leaves, 
and  their  airy  spray,  standing  on  an  elevation  that  over- 
looks a  gloomy  swamp  of  pine  and  cypress. 


THE    OAK. 

IF  the  willow  be  the  most  poetical  of  trees,  the  Oak  is 
certainly  the  most  useful ;  though,  indeed,  it  is  far  from 
being  unattended  with  poetic  interest,  since  the  ancient 
superstitions  associated  with  it  have  given  it  an  im- 
portant place  in  legendary  lore.  It  is  not  surprising, 
when  we  remember  the  numerous  benefits  conferred  on 
mankind  by  the  Oak,  that  this  tree  has  always  been  re- 
garded with  veneration,  that  the  ancients  held  it  sacred 
to  Jupiter,  and  that  divine  honors  were  paid  to  it  by 
our  Celtic  ancestors.  The  Romans,  who  crowned  their 
heroes  with  green  Oak  leaves,  entitled  the  "  Civic  Crown," 
and  the  Druids,  who  offered  sacrifice  under  this  tree, 
were  actuated  by  the  same  estimation  of  its  pre-eminent 
utility  to  the  human  race.  When  we  consider  the  sturdy 
form  of  the  Oak,  the  wide  spread  of  its  lower  branches, 
that  symbolize  protection ;  the  value  of  its  fruit  for  the 
sustenance  of  certain  animals;  and  the  many  purposes 
to  which  the  bark,  the  wood,  and  even  the  excrescences 
of  this  tree  may  be  applied,  —  we  can  easily  understand 
why  it  is  called  the  emblem  of  hospitality.  The  an- 
cient Eomans  planted  it  to  overshadow  the  temple  of 
Jupiter;  and  in  the  adjoining  grove  of  oaks, — the  sacred 
grove  of  Dodona,  —  they  sought  those  oracular  responses 
which  were  prophetic  of  the  result  of  any  important 
adventure. 

To  American  eyes,  the  Oak  is  far  less  familiar  than  the 
elm  as  a  wayside  tree ;  but  in  England,  where  many 

"  ....  a  cottage  chimney  smokes 
From  betwixt  two  aged  oaks," 


152  THE  OAZ. 

this  tree,  formerly  associated  with  the  principal  religious 
ceremonies  of  that  country,  is  now  hardly  less  sacred  in 
the  eyes  of  the  inhabitants  from  their  experience  of  its 
shelter  and  its  shade,  and  their  ideas  of  its  usefulness  in 
all  the  arts.  The  history  of  the  British  Isles  is  closely 
interwoven  with  incidents  connected  with  it,  and  the 
poetry  of  Great  Britain  has  derived  from  it  many  a 
theme  of  inspiration. 

The  Oak  surpasses  all  other  trees,  not  only  in  actual 
strength,  but  also  in  that  outward  appearance  by  which 
this  quality  is  manifested  This  expression  is  owing  to 
the  general  horizontal  tendency  of  its  principal  boughs, 
the  great  angularity  of  the  unions  of  its  smaller 
branches,  the  want  of  flexibility  in  its  spray,  and  its 
great  size  compared  with  its  height,  all  manifesting  power 
to  resist  the  wind  and  the  storm.  Hence  it  is  called  the 
monarch  of  trees,  surpassing  all  in  the  qualities  of  noble- 
ness and  capacity.  It  is  the  embodiment  of  strength, 
dignity,  and  grandeur.  The  severest  hurricane  cannot 
overthrow  it,  and,  by  destroying  some  of  its  principal 
branches,  leaves  it  only  with  more  wonderful  proof  of  its 
resistance.  Like  a  rock  in  mid-ocean,  it  becomes  in  old 
age  a  just  symbol  of  fortitude,  parting  with  its  limbs  one 
by  one,  as  they  are  withered  by  decay  or  broken  by  the 
gale,  but  still  retaining  its  many-centuried  existence, 
when,  like  an  old  patriarch,  it  has  seen  all  its  early 
companions  removed. 

A  remarkable  habit  of  the  Oak  is  that  of  putting  forth 
its  lower  branches  at  a  wide  angle  from  the  central  shaft, 
which  rapidly  diminishes  in  size,  but  does  not  entirely 
disappear  above  the  lower  junction.  No  other  tree  dis- 
plays more  irregularities  in  its  ramification.  The  beauty 
of  its  spray  depends  on  a  certain  crinkling  of  the  small 
branches ;  yet  the  Oak,  which,  on  account  of  these  angu- 
larities, is  especially  adapted  to  rude  situations,  is  equally 


THE   OAK.  153 

attractive  in  an  open  cultivated  plain.  It  forms  a  singu- 
larly noble  and  majestic  standard  ;  and  though  surpassed 
by  the  elm  in  grace,  beauty,  and  variety  of  form,  an 
Oak  of  full  size  and  just  proportions  would  attract  more 
admiration. 

The  foliage  of  the  Oak  may  be  readily  distinguished  at 
all  seasons.  It  comes  out  in  spring  in  neatly  plaited 
folds,  displaying  a  variety  of  hues,  combined  with  a  gen- 
eral cinereous  tint.  Hence  it  is  very  beautiful  when  only 
half  developed,  having  a  silvery  lustre,  intershaded  with 
purple,  crimson,  and  lilac.  The  leaves,  when  fully  ex- 
panded in  all  the  typical  oaks,  are  deeply  scalloped  in 
a  way  which  is  peculiar  to  this  genus  of  trees ;  their 
verdure  is  of  more  than  ordinary  purity ;  they  are  of  a 
firm  texture,  and  glossy  upon  their  upper  surface,  like 
evergreen  leaves.  In  midsummer  few  forest  trees  surpass 
the  Oak  in  the  beauty  of  their  foliage,  or  in  its  persist- 
ence after  the  arrival  of  frost. 

Oak  woods  possess  characters  almost  as  strongly  marked 
as  those  of  a  pine  wood.  They  emit  a  fragrance  which 
is  agreeable,  though  not  sweet,  and  unlike  that  of  other 
trees.  They  seldom  grow  as  densely  as  pines,  poplars,  and 
other  trees  that  scatter  a  multitude  of  small  seeds,  and, 
being  soft  wooded,  increase  with  greater  rapidity.  The 
Oak  is  slow  in  its  perpendicular  growth,  having  an  ob- 
stinate inclination  to  spread.  It  has  also  a  more  abundant 
undergrowth  than  many  other  woods,  because  it  sends  its 
roots  downward  into  the  soil,  instead  of  monopolizing  the 
surface,  like  the  beech.  One  thing  that  is  apparent  on 
entering  an  Oak  wood  is  the  absence  of  that  uniformity 
which  we  observe  in  other  woods.  The  irregular  and 
contorted  growth  of  individual  trees,  twisting  in  many 
directions,  and  the  want  of  precision  in  their  forms,  are 
apparent  at  once.  We  do  not  see  in  a  forest  of  Oaks 
whole  acres  of  tall  slender  trees  sending  upward  a  smooth 

7* 


154  THE   OAK. 

perpendicular  shaft,  as  we  observe  in  a  wood  of  beech  and 
poplar.  Every  tree  has  more  or  less  of  a  gnarled  growth, 
and  is  seldom  entirely  clear  of  branches.  If  the  branch 
of  an  Oak  in  a  dense  assemblage  meets  an  obstruction,  it 
bends  itself  around  and  upward  until  it  obtains  light  and 
space,  or  else  ceases  to  grow  without  decaying,  while  that 
of  any  soft- wooded  tree  would  perish,  leaving  the  trunk 
smooth,  or  but  slightly  defaced. 


TEEES  IN  ASSEMBLAGES. 

OPEN  groves,  fragments  of  forest,  and  inferior  groups 
alone  are  particularly  interesting  in  landscape.  An  exten- 
sive and  unbroken  wilderness  of  wood  affords  but  a  dreary 
prospect  and  an  unattractive  journey.  Its  gloomy  uni- 
formity tires  and  saddens  the  spectator,  after  some  hours' 
confinement  to  it.  The  primitive  state  of  any  densely 
wooded  continent,  unmodified  by  the  operations  of  civil- 
ized man,  is  sadly  wanting  in  those  cheerful  scenes  which 
are  now  so  common  in  New  England.  Nature  must  be 
combined  with  art,  or  rather  with  the  works  of  man's 
labor,  and  associated  with  human  life,  to  be  deeply  inter- 
esting. It  is  not  necessary,  however,  that  the  artificial 
objects  in  a  landscape  should  possess  a  grand  historical 
character  to  awaken  our  sympathies.  Humble  objects, 
indeed,  are  the  most  consonant  with  nature's  aspects, 
because  they  manifest  no  ludicrous  endeavor  to  rival 
them.  A  woodman's  hut  in  a  clearing,  a  farmer's  cottage 
on  some  half-cultivated  slope,  a  saw-mill,  or  even  a  mere 
sheepfold,  awakens  a  sympathetic  interest,  and  enlivens 
the  scene  with  pastoral  and  romantic  images. 

A  great  part  of  the  territory  of  North  America  is  still 
a  wilderness ;  but  the  forests  have  been  so  extensively 
invaded  that  we  see  the  original  wood  only  in  fragments, 
seldom  forming  unique  assemblages.  Especially  in  the 
Western  States,  the  "woods  are  chiefly  sections  of  the 
forest,  scattered  in  and  around  the  spacious  clearings, 
without  many  natural  groups  of  trees  to  please  the  eye 
with  their  spontaneous  beauty.  They  surround  the  clear- 


156  TREES  IN  ASSEMBLAGES. 

ing  with  palisades  of  naked  pillars,  unrelieved  by  any 
foliage  below  their  summits.  They  remind  me  of  city 
houses  which  have  been  cut  asunder  to  widen  an  ave- 
nue, leaving  their  interior  walls  exposed  to  sight.  These 
fragments  of  forest,  and  the  acres  of  stumps  in  the  recent 
clearings,  are  the  grand  picturesque  deformity  of  the 
newly  settled  parts  of  the  country.  But  when  a  wall  of 
these  forest  palisades,  a  hundred  feet  in  height,  bounds 
the  plain  for  miles  of  prospect,  it  forms  a  scene  of  unex- 
ceptionable grandeur. 

It  is  chiefly  in  the  old  States  that  we  see  anything  like 
a  picturesque  grouping  of  trees.  There  the  wood  as- 
sumes the  character  of  both  forest  and  grove,  displaying 
a  beautiful  intermixture  of  them,  combined  with  groups 
of  coppice  and  shrubbery.  Thickets  generally  occupy  the 
low  grounds,  and  coppice  the  elevations.  The  New  Eng- 
land system  of  farming  has  been  more  favorable  to  the 
picturesque  grouping  of  wood,  and  other  objects,  than  that 
of  any  other  part  of  the  country.  At  the  South,  where 
agriculture  is  carried  on  in  large  plantations,  we  see  spa- 
cious fields  of  tillage,  and  forest  groups  of  corresponding 
size.  But  the  small,  independent  farming  of  New  Eng- 
land has  produced  a  charming  variety  of  wood,  pasture, 
and  tillage,  so  agreeably  intermixed  that  we  are  never 
weary  of  looking  upon  it.  The  varied  surface  of  the  land 
has  increased  these  advantages,  producing  an  endless 
succession  of  those  limited  views  which  we  call  pictu- 
resque. 

When  a  considerable  space  is  covered  with  a  dense 
growth  of  tall  trees,  the  assemblage  represents  overhead 
an  immense  canopy  of  verdure,  supported  by  innumerable 
pillars.  No  man  could  enter  one  of  these  dark  solitudes 
without  a  deep  impression  of  sublimity,  especially  during 
a  general  stillness  of  the  winds.  The  voices  of  solitary 
birds,  and  other  sounds  peculiar  to  the  woods,  exalt  this 


TREES  IN  ASSEMBLAGES.  157 

impression.  Indeed,  the  grandeur  and  solemnity  of  a 
magnificent  wood  are  hardly  surpassed  by  anything  else 
in  nature.  A  very  slight  sound,  during  a  calm,  in  one  of 
these  deep  woods,  has  a  distinctness  almost  startling, 
like  the  ticking  of  a  clock1  in  a  vast  hall  These  feeble 
sounds  afford  us  a  more  vivid  sense  of  the  magnitude  of 
the  place,  and  of  its  deep  solemnity,  than  louder  sounds, 
which  are  attended  with  a  confused  reverberation.  The 
foliage,  spread  out  in  a  continuous  mass  over  our  heads, 
produces  the  effect  of  a  ceiling,  and  represents  the  roof  of 
a  vast  temple. 

In  an  open  grove  we  experience  different  sensations. 
Here  pleasantness  and  cheerfulness  are  combined,  though 
a  sense  of  grandeur  may  be  excited  by  some  noble  trees. 
In  a  grove,  the  trees  in  general  are  well  developed,  having 
room  enough  to  expand  to  their  normal  proportions.  We 
often  see  their  shadows  cast  separately  upon  the  ground, 
which  is  green  beneath  them  as  in  an  orchard.  If  we 
look  upon  this  assemblage  from  an  adjoining  eminence, 
we  observe  a  variety  of  outlines  by  which  we  may  iden- 
tify the  different  species.  A  wild  wood  is  sometimes 
converted  into  a  grove  by  clearing  it  of  its  undergrowth 
and  removing  the  smaller  trees.  Such  an  assemblage 
displays  but  few  of  the  charms  of  a  natural  grove.  A 
cleared  wild  wood  yields  shade  and  coolness;  but  the 
individual  trees  always  retain  their  gaunt  and  imperfect 


Artificial  plantations  display  the  characters  of  a  grove  ; 
but  all  spontaneous  growths  are  bordered  and  more  or 
less  interspersed  with  underwood.  Hence  a  limited 
growth  of  forest,  like  a  wooded  island,  surrounded  by 
water  or  by  a  meadow,  surpasses  any  artificial  plantation 
as  a  picturesque  and  beautiful  feature  of  landscape.  The 
painter  finds  in  these  spontaneous  collections  of  wood  an 
endless  variety  of  grouping  and  outline  for  the  exercise 


158  TKEES  IN  ASSEMBLAGES. 

of  his  art ;  and  the  botanist  discovers,  in  their  glens  and 
hollows,  hundreds  of  species  that  would  perish  in  an  open 
grove.  Some  woods  are  distinguished  by  a  superfluity, 
others,  like  fir  and  beech  woods,  by  a  deficiency  of  under- 
growth, and  this  differs  in  botanical  characters  as  well  as 
in  quantity,  according  to  the  predominant  species  in  the 
wood.  In  all  woods,  however,  shrubbery  is  more  abun- 
dant on  the  borders  than  in  the  interior.  This,  border- 
growth  contributes 'more  than  anything  else  to  harmonize 
wood  and  field.  It  is  the  outside  finish  and  native  embel- 
lishment of  every  spontaneous  assemblage  of  trees. 

A  wood  in  a  valley  between  two  open  hills  does  not 
darken  the  prospect  as  if  it  covered  the  hills,  though,  if 
it  be  continuous,  it  hides  the  form  of  the  ground.  But 
when  it  has  come  up  in  scattered  groups  on  a  wide  plain, 
without  the  interference  of  art,  it  surpasses  every  other 
description  of  wood-scenery.  An  assemblage  of  trees  on  a 
hillside  is  called  a  "  hanging  wood,"  because  it  seems  to 
overhang  the  valley  beneath  it.  Thus  situated  it  forms 
oppositions  of  a  very  striking  sort,  by  lifting  its  summits 
into  the  sunshine  while  it  deepens  the  shadows  that 
rest  upon  the  valley.  Wood  on  steep  declivities  is  an 
interesting  sight,  especially  if  an  occasional  opening  re- 
veals to  us  the  precipitous  character  of  the  ground,  and 
shows  the  difficulties  which  the  trees  have  overcome  in 
their  struggle  for  life.  Some  of  our  pleasure  comes  from 
the  evident  utility  of  such  a  wood.  We  see  at  once 
that  a  rocky  steep  could  not  be  occupied  by  any  other 
vegetation,  except  under  the  protection  of  the  trees,  and 
that  trees  alone  could  resist  the  force  of  occasional  tor- 
rents; that  without  them  the  ground  would  be  barren, 
ugly,  and  profitless,  and  difficult  and  dangerous  to  those 
who  should  attempt  to  climb  it. 


THE  WHITE  OA 


nto  numerous  large  branches,  <I 
•  oigle  from  a  commoi. 


a  pale  chalky 


THE  WHITE  OAK  AND  OTHER  SPECIES. 

THE  most  important,  though  not  the  largest,  of  the 
American  trees  of  the  Oak  family,  and  the  one  that  is 
most  like  the  English  tree,  is  the  American  White  Oak. 
It  puts  forth  its  branches  at  a  comparatively  small  height, 
not  in  a  horizontal  direction,  like  the  white  pine,  but  ex- 
tending to  great  length  with  many  a  crook,  and  present- 
ing the  same  knotted  and  gnarled  appearance  for  which 
the  English  oak  is  celebrated.  Individual  trees  of  this 
species  differ  so  widely  in  their  ramification  that  it  would 
be  difficult  to  select  any  one  as  the  true  type.  Some 
are  without  a  central  shaft,  being  subdivided  at  a  small 
height  into  numerous  large  branches,  diverging  at  rather 
a  wide  angle  from  a  common  point  of  junction,  like  the 
elm.  Others  send  up  their  trunk  nearly  straight  to  the 
very  summit  of  the  tree,  giving  out  lateral  branches  from 
all  points  almost  horizontally.  There  is  a  third  form 
that  seems  to  have  no  central  shaft,  because  it  is  so 
greatly  contorted  that  it  can  only  be  traced  among  its 
subordinate  branches  by  the  most  careful  inspection. 
The  stature  of  the  White  Oak,  when  it  has  grown  in  an 
isolated  situation,  is  low,  and  it  has  a  wider  spread  than 
any  other  American  tree. 

The  leaves  of  the  White  Oak  are  marked  by  several  ob- 
long, rounded  lobes,  without  deep  sinuosities.  They  turn 
to  a  pale  chalky  red  in  the  autumn,  remain  on  the  tree 
all  winter,  and  fall  as  the  new  foliage  comes  out  in  the 
spring.  The  tree  may  be  readily  distinguished  from 
other  oaks  by  the  light  color  and  scaly  surface  of  the 


160  THE  WHITE   OAK  AND   OTHER   SPECIES. 

bark,  without  any  deep  corrugations.  In  Massachusetts 
very  few  standard  White  Oaks  have  escaped  the  axe 
of  the  "timberer,"  on  account  of  the  great  demand  for 
the  wood  of  this  species.  Were  it  not  for  the  protec- 
tion afforded  by  men  of  wealth  to  oaks  in  their  own 
grounds,  all  the  large  standards  would  soon  be  utterly 
destroyed.  Democracy,  though  essential  to  republican 
liberty,  is  fatal  to  all  objects  which  are  valuable  for  their 
poetic  or  picturesque  qualities.  It  has  no  foresight,  and 
no  sentimental  reverence  for  antiquity.  It  perceives  the 
value  of  an  object  for  present  use ;  but  it  disdains  to  look 
forward  to  the  interest  of  a  coming  generation.  In  regard 
to  nature,  what  is  called  progress  in  America  is  only  an- 
other name  for  devastation.  How  great  soever  the  po- 
litical evil  of  large  estates,  it  is  evident  that  in  proportion 
to  their  multiplication  will  be  the  increased  protection 
afforded  to  our  trees  and  forests,  as  well  as  to  the  birds 
and  quadrupeds  that  inhabit  them. 


THE    SWAMP    OAK 

The  Swamp  Oak  bears  resemblance  in  many  points  to 
the  White  Oak ;  but  it  has  less  breadth,  and  abounds  in 
straggling  branches  growing  from  the  trunk  just  below 
the  junction  of  the  principal  boughs.  This  gnarled  and 
contorted  growth  is  one  of  the  picturesque  appendages 
of  the  Swamp  Oak,  distinguishing  it  from  all  the  other 
species,  and  rendering  it  an  important  feature  in  a  wild 
and  rugged  landscape.  This  cluster  does  not,  like  the 
vinery  of  the  elm,  clothe  the  whole  extent  of  the  bole, 
but  resembles  an  inferior  whorl  of  branches  below  the 
principal  head.  Above  it,  the  tree  forms  rather  a  cylin- 
drical head,  and  the  principal  branches  are  short  com- 
pared with  those  of  other  oaks. 


THE  WHITE   OAK  AND   OTHEE   SPECIES.  163 

mental  as  single  trees,  and  they  are  prone  to  usurp  the 
whole  ground,  excluding  that  charming  variety  of  shrubs 
which  constitutes  the  beauty  of  our  half-wooded  hills, 


THE  BLACK  OAK. 

It  is  not  my  intention  to  enumerate  all  the  species  of 
this  genus  ;  but  I  must  give  a  passing  notice  to  the  Black 
Oak,  because  it  is  a  common  and  very  large  tree  in  favor- 
able situations.  It  has  been  named  Black  Oak  on  account 
of  the  very  dark  color  of  its  outer  bark ;  and  Yellow 
Oak,  —  a  name  quite  as  common  as  the  other,  —  from  the 
yellow  color  of  its  inner  bark,  which  produces  the  quer- 
citron used  by  dyers.  It  may  also  have  been  so  called 
from  the  yellowish  leather-color  of  its  leaves  in  the 
autumn,  resembling  the  color  of  a  dry  oak-leaf.  Many 
large  trees  of  this  species  are  found  in  the  New  England 
States.  In  Kentucky  it  is  named  Black  Jack,  and  con- 
stitutes the  principal  timber  of  those  extensive  tracts 
called  Oak  Barrens. 


HOMELINESS    OF  NATURE. 

IT  seems  a  part  of  the  benevolent  plan  of  Nature  to 
adorn  her  works,  in  general,  with  great  frugality,  and 
homeliness  is  accordingly  the  prevailing  character  of  her 
scenery.  It  is,  indeed,  necessary  that  whatever  is  com- 
mon should  be  so  unattractive  as  not  to  deaden  OUT 
susceptibility  to  agreeable  sensations  when  we  behold 
scenes  of  actual  beauty.  Nature  uses  it,  therefore,  only 
as  a  luxury  ;  for  occasional  and  sparing  adornment,  some- 
times a  little  while  in  profusion,  but  never  making  it  a 
lasting  feature  of  any  prominent  objects.  Her  ordinary 
aspects  are  agreeable,  as  colorless  light  to  the  eye  and 
pure  water  to  the  taste,  but  the  one  is  not  sweet  and 
the  other  not  beautiful.  She  has  provided  a  comfort- 
able state  of  being  for  our  usual  condition ;  and  does  not 
by  her  ordinary  phases  keep  the  mind  or  the  senses  in  a 
state  of  excitement.  She  takes  care  that  our  sensitive- 
ness to  the  influence  of  beauty  shall  be  preserved  in  a 
healthy  state  by  the  general  rudeness  and  sobriety  of 
the  landscape. 

It  is  not  denied  that  these  homely  objects  may  possess 
a  kind  of  relative  beauty,  coming  from  our  idea  of  their 
adaptedness  to  our  pleasures  and  from  pleasant  associa- 
tions. Many  an  ugly  scene  on  the  face  of  the  earth  may 
seem  beautiful  from  its  power  of  awakening  the  pleasures 
of  memory.  So  keen  is  this  sentiment,  that  we  often 
with  difficulty  distinguish  homely  scenes  and  objects  thus 
consecrated  to  our  affections  from  such  as  are  intrinsically 
beautiful  I  rank  under  the  head  of  intrinsic  beauty  those 


HOMELINESS   OF  NATURE.  165 

qualities  only  that  produce  an  agreeable  and  stimulating 
effect  upon  the  visual  organism.  In  this  acceptation  of 
terms  the  general  aspect  of  nature  is  homely.  And  it 
would  be  easy  to  show  that  such  an  adjustment  of  crea- 
tion is  promotive,  not  only  of  our  general  well-being,  but 
that  it  preserves  our  capacity  to  enjoy  the  sight  of  all 
beauty  as  it  comes  before  us. 

Hence  as  Nature  leads  up  the  seasons  of  the  year 
she  presents  their  unattractive  features  in  the  most  con- 
spicuous light,  and  makes  their  beauties  so  evanescent 
that  they  usually  bear  the  name  of  harbingers,  because 
their  infrequency  seems  only  to  warn  us  of  a  change. 
Spring  she  escorts  like  a  fair  maiden  garlanded  with  flow- 
ers, binding  her  brows  with  lilies  and  snowdrops,  and 
causing  thousands  of  minute  beauties  to  rise  wherever 
she  places  her  feet.  All  these  soon  pass  away,  seldom 
remaining  long  enough  to  tire  us  of  their  presence.  Sum- 
mer bears  the  horn  of  plenty,  contributing  more  directly 
to  our  physical  comfort,  but  not  so  deeply  affecting  the 
imagination.  Summer  presents  us  with  occasional  out- 
breaks of  splendor,  but  never  wearies  the  eye  by  their 
frequency.  Autumn,  amid  the  waning  lights  of  heaven, 
for  a  short  period  wins  our  admiration  by  spectacles  of 
unusual  splendor.  Then  for  a  few  weeks  the  face  of  na- 
ture may  be  called  beautiful.  But  were  this  scene  of 
splendor  continued  through  the  year,  its  charming  influ- 
ence would  be  lost  upon  us.  Hence  those  aesthetic  phi- 
losophers who  recommend  to  stimulate  the  mind  and  sight 
with  universal  ornate  scenery  would  soon  render  our 
faculties  morbidly  dull  to  beautiful  impressions. 

But  Nature  has  been  economical  in  her  luxurious 
proffers  for  sense  and  appetite.  She  neither  strews 
the  ground  with  gaudy  colors,  nor  causes  wine  to  flow 
in  streams,  like  crystal  water.  She  chooses  rather  to 
strengthen  our  perceptions  by  a  cautious  frugality,  mak- 


166  HOMELINESS   OF  NATUEE. 

ing  the  common  objects  of  the  material  world  rude, 
homely,  and  even  repulsive,  occasionally  revealing  some 
charming  scene  to  captivate  the  sight,  and  bearing  some 
agreeable  fruit  to  regale  the  other  senses.  Thus,  when  we 
stroll  among  the  leafless  woods  in  spring,  while  all  things 
wear  the  aspect  of  desolation,  the  mind  is  stimulated  by 
the  absence  of  beauty,  so  that  not  a  flower  appears  on  a 
mossy  knoll  that  is  not  greeted  with  delight. 

Men  who  live  all  the  year  under  the  continuous  splen- 
dor of  the  tropics  lose  in  great  measure  this  healthful 
susceptibility  to  the  charms  of  ordinary  objects.  This 
may  explain  why  in  those  countries  only  where  there  is 
an  annual  revolution  of  the  seasons  and  a  constant  change 
in  the  phases  of  nature  has  civilization  made  any  con- 
siderable progress.  I  am  convinced  that  the  homely 
features  of  landscape  are  the  proper  aliment  of  the  soul ; 
they  are  its  strength  and  refreshment,  and  they  preserve 
its  healthful  tranquillity.  The  occasional  displays  of 
beauty  are  but  as  gleams  of  light  from  heaven  penetrating 
through  our  shadows,  and  revealing  glimpses  of  the  great 
mysterious  Source  of  happiness  that  lies  beyond  our  ken. 
There  is  but  little  that  attracts  our  attention  in  the  form- 
less clouds  that  produce  the  summer  rain.  But  after  the 
rain  has  passed  away,  when  the  sun  reappears  involved 
in  mist,  faintly  illuminating  the  scene,  like  hope  in  ad- 
versity, the  mind  is  exalted  to  rapture ;  and  when  at 
length,  renewing  the  ancient  covenant  between  earth  and 
heaven,  the  rainbow  comes  forth  to  signalize  the  renewal 
of  all  blessings,  then  do  we  feel  the  influence  of  the 
highest  material  beauty. 

It  is  idle  to  say  that  by  the  canons  of  decorative  art 
the  landscape  cannot  be  made  too  beautiful.  As  well 
might  we  say  that  there  cannot  be  too  much  fragrance 
in  the  air,  or  too  much  color  on  the  blue  surface  of  a  lake. 
If  the  whole  ground  were  covered  with  brilliant  flowers, 


HOMELINESS   OF  NATURE.  167 

if  trees  were  all  perfect  and  symmetrical  in  their  shape, 
and  not  rugged  and  homely  as  now,  how  sadly  would 
they  be  wanting  in  their  present  attractions  !  The  very 
pebbles  and  gravel  and  broken  sods  that  intercept  our 
progress,  and  often  offend  the  sight,  are  as  needful  parts 
of  the  great  picture  as  the  most  beautiful  object  that  at- 
tracts our  admiration.  Beauty,  like  a  pearl  or  diamond, 
derives  value  from  the  endeavors  we  make  to  find  it ;  and 
an  occasional  glimpse  produces  more  pleasure  than  we 
should  derive  from  the  constant  sight  of  it. 

Hence  the  most  brilliant  and  enchanting  colors  and 
forms  are  chiefly  confined  to  the  minute  objects  of  crea- 
tion, while  those  most  apparent  from  their  magnitude  or 
extent  of  surface  are  sober  in  their  hues,  or  rough  and 
rude  in  their  general  appearance.  All  the  exceptions 
to  this  law  among  things  of  considerable  magnitude 
are  such  as  retain  their  brilliancy  only  a  few  moments. 
In  the  forms  and  hues  of  the  clouds,  which  are  always 
evanescent,  in  the  frostwork  upon  our  windows,  in 
flowers  and  fruits,  in  birds  and  insects,  has  nature  dis- 
played the  most  beautiful  hues,  forms,  and  combinations. 
But  the  rocks  that  compose  the  hills  and  mountains, 
the  general  outline  of  the  forest,  and  the  surface  of  the 
ground,  are  destitute  of  beauty,  and  are  attractive  only  as 
they  cherish  some  agreeable  sentiment.  But  Nature  does 
not  withhold  the  charms  of  color  and  symmetry  from  her 
evanescent  forms,  however  great  their  magnitude.  Hence 
the  incomparable  beauty  of  the  rainbow  ! 

In  her  displays  of  mere  organic  beauty,  Nature  will 
not  bear  comparison  with  art;  and  if  we  are  more 
charmed  with  her  scenes,  it  is  because  they  more  power- 
fully affect  the  imagination.  All  would  agree,  upon  draw- 
ing a  comparison  between  the  beauty  of  the  clouds 
at  sunset  and  that  of  the  interior  of  a  dome  of  colored 
glass,  that  the  latter  is  the  more  brilliant  and  variegated. 


168  HOMELINESS   OF  NATUKE. 

But  the  artificial  scene  produces  only  the  organic  sen- 
sation of  beauty,  while  the  natural  scene  exalts  the 
mind  with  enthusiasm.  In  the  one  case,  we  view  a  mere 
artful  and  splendid  arrangement  of  colors  in  symmetri- 
cal combination ;  in  the  other,  what  seems  like  an  open- 
ing of  the  gates  of  Paradise.  Yet  I  well  remember  a 
time  when  there  was  a  brilliant  and  beautiful  sunset,  the 
clouds  being  arranged  in  the  sweetest  harmony  of  col- 
ors and  forms,  showing  every  gradation  of  hue  from  gold 
and  crimson  and  orange  to  purple  and  violet ;  I  had  just 
stepped  into  the  interior  of  a  dome  of  colored  glass,  re- 
maining several  minutes,  with  a  few  friends,  studying 
and  admiring  the  exhibition.  When  we  returned  into 
the  open  air,  the  western  clouds  had  at  that  moment 
attained  their  highest  splendor.  But  our  sight  was  so 
dazed  by  the  intense  brilliancy  of  the  colored  glass,  that 
the  glories  of  sunset  seemed  to  all  the  company  dull, 
faded,  and  without  character.  Alas  !  thought  I,  how  by 
the  luxuries  of  art  may  we  destroy  our  capacity  to  be 
moved  by  those  appearances  that  would  serve  to  delight 
the  sense  and  to  elevate  the  soul  to  heaven ! 


THE  LAUEEL. 

OF  the  Laurel,  so  celebrated  in  the  romance  of  classical 
literature,  there  are  only  two  species  in  the  New  England 
States,  —  the  Benzoin  and  the  Sassafras.  But  those  two 
shrubs,  being  deciduous,  are  not  associated  in  the  minds 
of  the  people  with  the  true  Laurel.  They  have  given 
this  name  to  the  Kalmia,  which  is  evergreen  and  bears  a 
superficial  resemblance  to  the  Laurel  of  the  poets.  A 
curious  fact  is  related  by  Phillips,  in  his  "  Sylva  Florifica," 
of  the  Laurel,  which  may  not  be  out  of  place  in  these 
pages.  In  the  Middle  Ages,  favorite  poets,  who  were 
generally  minstrels,  were  crowned  with  wreaths  of  Laurel 
branches  containing  the  berries ;  and  this  custom  was  imi- 
tated in  colleges,  when  they  conferred  a  degree  upon 
graduating  students.  "  Students,"  says  Phillips,  "  who 
have  taken  their  degrees  at  the  Universities,  are  called 
'bachelors,  from  the  French  bachelier,  which  is  derived  from 
the  Latin  laccalaureus,  —  a  laurel-berry.  These  students 
were  not  allowed  to  marry,  lest  the  duties  of  husband  and 
father  should  take  them  from  their  literary  pursuits  ;  and 
in  time  all  single  men  were  called  bachelors." 

THE  SASSAFKAS. 

The  Sassafras-tree  is  usually  a  shrub  in  this  part  of  the 
country,  abounding  in  almost  all  woods,  and  very  gen- 
erally sought  for  the  pleasant  aromatic  savor  of  the  bark. 
Occasionally  I  have  seen  the  Sassafras  growing  to  the 
height  of  a  middle-sized  tree  in  Massachusetts,  but  it 


170  THE  LAUREL. 

rarely  attains  such  dimensions  except  in  the  Middle 
and  Southern  States.  All  the  large  trees  in  this  re- 
gion have  perished,  and  I  have  not  seen  one  since  my 
boyhood,  when  there  were  many  of  them.  I  am  there- 
fore led  to  believe  that  the  changes  in  our  climate  conse- 
quent upon  the  general  clearing  of  the  forest,  whatever 
their  general  effects  may  be,  have  not  been  favorable 
to  the  Sassafras,  which  has  become  extinct  as  a  tree 
in  this  latitude. 

The  Sassafras  often  attains  the  height  of  sixty  feet  in 
the  Southern  States,  and  nearly  forty  feet  in  the  country 
round  Philadelphia.  The  leaves,  when  young,  are  downy, 
very  deeply  lobed,  mucilaginous,  and  aromatic.  The 
flowers  are  greenish,  inconspicuous,  and  only  slightly  fra- 
grant. The  berries  are  of  a  bright  blue  color,  and  are 
the  favorite  food  of  some  small  birds.  On  account  of 
its  agreeable  aromatic  properties,  the  Sassafras  became 
known  to  the  Europeans  at  an  early  period,  and  was  very 
generally  employed  in  medicine.  At  present  it  is  simply 
used  as  an  aromatic  stimulant.  Gerard  calls  it  the  ague- 
tree,  and  it  was  believed  to  be  efficacious  in  the  cure  of 
many  diseases.  There  is  a  tradition  that  the  odors  of  the 
Sassafras,  wafted  from  the  A  •men' can  shore,  led  Columbus 
to  believe  that  land  was  near,  and  encouraged  him  and  his 
mutinous  crew  to  persevere  on  their  voyage. 

THE  BENZOIN. 

The  Benzoin  is  never  more  than  a  middle-sized  shrub, 
sometimes,  though  rarely,  attaining  the  height  of  eight 
or  ten  feet.  It  is  not  branching,  but  sends  up  its  long 
stems,  like  some  of  the  dwarf  willows,  directly  from  the 
root,  without  assuming  a  tree  form.  "We  often  find  these 
long  branches  covered  with  foliage  from  the  root  to  the 
extremity.  The  leaves  are  of  a  handsome  ovate  form, 


CLIPPED  HEDGE-HOWS.  171 

and  are  highly  aromatic,  but  differ  essentially  from  the 
Sassafras  in  their  odor.  The  berries  have  been  used  as 
spice  for  culinary  purposes. 


CLIPPED   HEDGE-HOWS. 

No  art  connected  with  gardening  has  been  so  generally 
ridiculed  in  modern  times  as  the  topiary  art,  or  that  of 
vegetable  sculpture.  It  is  certainly  not  worthy  of  de- 
fence ;  and  yet  it  seems  to  me  quite  as  rational  to  cut 
out  a  figure  in  box  or  yew,  as  to  shear  the  branches  of  a 
hedge-row  to  reduce  it  to  architectural  proportions.  I 
cannot  see  why  vegetable  architecture  is  any  more  rational 
than  vegetable  sculpture.  I  cannot  see  why  those  persons 
who  admire  a  clipped  hedge-row  should  object  to  an 
"  Adam  and  Eve  in  yew,"  or  a  "  Green  Dragon  in  box," 
nor  why  those  who  are  willing  to  torture  a  row  of  shrub- 
bery by  this  Procrustean  operation  should  not  be  pleased 
with  a  "Noah's  Ark  in  holly,"  or  an  "old  maid-of- 
honor  in  wormwood,"  as  described  in  Pope's  satire.  Of 
the  two  operations,  I  consider  the  one  that  still  main- 
tains its  ground  in  popular  taste  the  most  senseless.  "  An 
old  maid-of-honor  in  wormwood"  would  at  least  have 
the  merit  of  being  ridiculous ;  but  a  clipped  hedge-row  is 
simply  execrable,  without  affording  any  amusement 


TEEES  AS  ELECTEIC  AGENTS. 

To  a  poetical  mind  there  is  no  exercise  more  agreeable 
than  that  of  tracing  in  the  economy  of  Nature  certain 
trains  of  causes  and  effects  that  seem  to  represent  her  as 
a  kind  benefactor,  aiming  to  promote  the  happiness  of 
all  creatures.  While  we  treat  of  the  beauty  of  trees  and 
of  their  capacity  to  afford  shelter,  shade,  and  salubrity,  it 
is  pleasant,  while  continuing  our  observations,  to  find  no 
end  to  the  advantages  that  flow  from  them.  We  have 
studied  them  as  the  beautifiers  of  landscape,  as  the  sources 
of  vitality  and  salubrity  in  the  atmosphere,  as  our  shade 
in  summer  and  our  shelter  in  winter ;  as  the  cause  of 
equability,  both  of  temperature  and  of  moisture.  We 
may  also  discover  in  them  and  their  branches  an  infinite 
number  of  lightning-rods,  presenting  millions  of  points 
both  for  the  discharge  and  the  absorption  of  electricity. 
Trees  differ  from  other  plants  in  this  respect  only  by  pre- 
senting their  points  at  a  greater  elevation,  where  they  can 
act  more  immediately  upon  the  clouds. 

Trees,  especially  in  dense  assemblages,  may  therefore, 
in  frequent  instances,  be  the  immediate  occasion  of  show- 
ers, by  conducting  to  the  earth  the  electric  fluid  of  the 
clouds,  and  inducing  that  non-electric  \state  which  pre- 
cedes the  discharge  of  rain.  This  seems  to  be  effected 
by  electric  disorganization.  An  organized  cloud  is  an 
aggregation  of  vaporous  particles,  which  are  suspended 
in  the  atmosphere  and  held  in  a  state  of  union  with- 
out contact.  Being  in  a  similarly  electrified  condition, 
they  are  kept  separate  by  that  law  of  electricity  which 


TREES  AS   ELECTRIC   AGENTS.  173. 

causes  two  pith-balls,  suspended  by  threads,  when  similar- 
ly electrified,  to  repel  each  other  at  certain  distances.  All 
those  clouds  that  show  a  definite  and  organized  arrange- 
ment, and  resemble  feathers  or  lace,  are  charged  with 
electricity.  As  they  accumulate  they  lose  their  symmet- 
rical arrangement,  but  do  not  mix,  until  some  object, 
charged  with  opposite  electricity,  comes  near  them  and 
draws  from  the  mass  its  electric  fluid,  when  the-  vaporous 
particles,  losing  their  mutual  repulsion,  immediately  co- 
alesce and  descend  in  rain. 

To  illustrate  the  action  of  trees  in  producing  showers, 
we  will  suppose  a  dense  electric  cloud  to  be  passing  over 
a  dry  plain  containing  only  a  few  trees.  Not  meeting 
with  any  conducting  objects  of  appreciable  force  on  its 
journey,  it  remains  suspended  in  the  heavens  until  it 
reaches  either  a  large  collection  of  water,  or  encounters  a 
forest,  over  which,  as  over  a  lake,  there  rests  always,  in 
calm  weather,  a  stratum  of  invisible  moisture,  which  is  a 
powerful  conducting  agent.  The  trees,  with  their  numer- 
ous vegetable  points,  and  the  vapor  that  overspreads  them, 
combine  their  force  in  drawing  down  the  electric  fluid 
from  the  cloud  passing  over,  causing  the  whole  mass  to 
descend  in  showers.  The  damp  stratum  of  air  which,  in 
still  weather,  rests  upon  the  surface  of  every  large  sheet 
of  water,  being  a  powerful  conductor,  serves  to  explain  a 
phenomenon  often  observed  in  a  dry  season  near  the 
coast.  A  dense  electric  cloud  is  seen  to  pass  over  our 
heads,  without  shedding  a  drop  of  rain,  until  it  reaches 
the  ocean,  when  the  humid  air  above  the  waves,  acting  as 
a  conductor,  causes  the  cloud  to  part  with  its  electric  fluid 
and  to  fall  in  copious  showers  at  the  same  moment. 

Occasionally  a  similar  cloud,  after  rising  in  the  west 
about  thirty  degrees,  will  be  turned  from  its  direct  course, 
and  repelled  by  the  dry,  heated  atmosphere  resting  on  the 
plain,  and,  attracted  by  the  invisible  cloud  of  moisture  that 


174  TEEES  AS   ELECTKIC   AGENTS. 

hovers  over  the  river  valley,  is  seen  to  take  the  course  of 
the  river  in  its  journey  toward  the  sea.  Hence  it  is  noto- 
rious that  in  a  very  dry  time  the  rivers  obtain  more  show- 
ers than  the  plains,  and  the  wooded  mountainous  regions 
more  than  the  open  and  level  country.  And  we  may 
regard  it  as  a  happy  accident  in  the  economy  of  nature, 
that  trees  should  be  the  most  serviceable  in  nearly  all 
other  respects,  hardly  less  than  as  electric  agents,  upon 
those  situations  which  are  of  the  least  value  for  the  pur- 
poses of  agriculture.  Their  branches  on  lofty  ridges  and 
elevations,  extending  near  the  level  of  the  lower  clouds, 
are  like  so  many  lightning-rods  on  the  buildings  of  an 
elevated  city,  and  exert  a  powerful  influence  in  conduct- 
ing the  electric  fluid  from  an  overcharged  atmospheric 
stratum,  and  preventing,  in  some  degree  those  accumula- 
tions that  produce  thunder-storms.  Nature  employs  this 
grand  vegetable  apparatus  as  one  of  the  means  of  preserv- 
ing that  equilibrium,  both  of  moisture  and  electricity, 
which  cannot  be  greatly  disturbed  without  dangerous 
commotions. 

I  have  said  nothing  of  trees  as  a  protection  from  light- 
ning ;  but  there  are  many  curious  facts  and  superstitions 
on  record  in  relation  to  this  point.  "When  a  thun- 
der-storm threatened,"  as  Suetonius  relates,  "  Tiberius 
never  failed  to  wear  a  crown  of  laurel-leaves,  impressed 
with  the  belief  that  lightning  never  touched  the  leaves  of 
this  tree."  The  general  opinion  that  certain  trees  are  ex- 
empt from  the  stroke  of  lightning  is  very  ancient.  It 
probably  originated  in  some  religious  ideas  of  their  sanc- 
tity, and  men  in  more  enlightened  times  have  endeavored  to 
explain  it  by  philosophy,  instead  of  rejecting  it  as  fable. 
It  was  affirmed  by  Hugh  Maxwell,  an  American  writer, 
that  lightning  often  strikes  the  elm,  the  chestnut,  the  oak, 
the  pine,  and  less  frequently  the  ash;  but  it  always 
evades  the  beech,  the  birch,  and  the  maple.  Captain 


TREES  AS   ELECTRIC  AGENTS.  175 

Dibdin  remarks,  in  a  letter  to  Alexander  "Wilson,  that  in 
the  forests  of  Virginia  the  pines,  though  taller  than  the 
oaks,  were  less  frequently  injured  by  lightning,  and  con- 
siders them  pretty  secure  when  growing  among  oaks. 
These  accounts  by  different  writers  are  too  various  and 
contradictory  to  be  of  much  value  in  aiding  us  to  dis- 
cover the  truth.  It  is  probable  that  the  partial  exemp- 
tion of  certain  trees  from  the  stroke  of  lightning,  if  any 
such  accounts  be  true,  depends  on  their  size  and  shape. 
A  tall  tree  in  an  assemblage  would  be  more  exposed  than 
the  others.  It  may  also  be  supposed  that  if  a  tree  has  a 
regular  ramification,  smooth  and  straight  branches  and 
trunk,  it  is  better  formed  for  a  conductor,  and  that  it  would 
be  more  liable  to  receive  a  charge  of  the  fluid.  But  all 
these  opinions  are  probably  of  the  same  character  with 
those  respecting  the  antipathy  of  serpents  for  certain 
trees,  —  traditionary  notions  which  are  hardly  worthy  of 
investigation.  The  opinion  of  the  ancients  concerning 
the  immunity  of  the  laurel  was  probably  derived  from 
their  idea  of  its  sanctity  as  the  tree  which  was  dedicated 
to  Apollo.  At  the  present  day  there  exists  in  Italy  a 
similar  notion  concerning  the  white  grapevine.  Some 
of  the  peasantry  of  that  country  are  accustomed  to  twin- 
ing its  branches  around  the  head  and  waist  as  a  protection 
from  a  thunder-stroke. 

Trees  are  generally  believed  to  protect  a  house  adjoin- 
ing them  from  lightning ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  known 
that  men  and  animals  seeking  refuge  under  a  tree  in  an 
open  plain  are  in  greater  danger  than  outside  of  it.  The 
lightning  is  therefore  probably  conducted  by  the  water 
passing  down  on  the  surface  of  the  branches  and  trunk ; 
for  if  the  tree  itself  were  the  conductor,  the  lightning 
would  pass  through  the  trunk  into  the  ground,  and, 
like  a  lightning-rod,  act  as  a  protection  to  objects  near, 
but  not  in  contact  with  it.  Dr.  Franklin  thought  the 


176  TREES  AS   ELECTEIC  AGENTS. 

safest  place  a  few  yards  distant  from  a  tree,  and  a  lit- 
tle outside  of  its  widest  spread.  It  is  unsafe  to  stand 
under  the  drip  of  a  tree,  which  might  convey  to  the  per- 
son an  electric  charge.  It  was  the  opinion  of  M.  Arago, 
that  trees  overtopping  houses  at  small  distances  cannot 
be  regarded  as  affording  sure  protection,  like  a  properly 
adjusted  lightning-rod;  but  he  admitted  that  when  a 
storm  passes  over  a  forest  it  is  decidedly  enfeebled.  The 
forest  certainly  diminishes  the  power  of  a  thunderbolt. 
The  security  derived  from  trees  attaches  principally  to 
large  assemblages.  Though  a  house  may  receive  but 
little  protection  from  a  few  tall  trees  standing  near  it,  it 
is  not  to  be  denied  that  a  village  or  hamlet  is  rendered 
more  secure  by  adjoining  woods. 


THE  GROUND   LAUREL. 

THERE  is  only  one  Epigea  in  this  country, — a  very  fra- 
grant and  beautiful  species,  creeping  close  to  the  ground, 
and  bearing  dense  clusters  of  pearly  flowers,  edged  with 
crimson.  The  flowers  are  not  unlike  those  of  some  of  the 
heaths,  though  of  larger  size.  It  grows  abundantly  in 
many  parts  of  New  England,  particularly  around  Plym- 
outh, and  in  various  localities  from  Canada  to  Georgia. 
It  is  a  creeping  shrub,  occupying  dry  knolls  in  swampy 
land,  and  growing  along  on  the  edges  of  the  swamp  upon 
the  upland  soil.  The  leaves  are  almost  round,  evergreen, 
light-colored  and  slightly  russet,  partially  overlapping  the 
dense  clusters  of  flowers,  that  possess  a  great  deal  of 
beauty  and  emit  an  odor  like  that  of  hyacinths. 

No  plant  has  more  celebrity  among  our  people  than 
the  Ground  Laurel,  the  earliest  of  all  our  wild  flowers. 
I  cannot  consent  to  apply  to .  it  the  common  unmeaning 
name  of  "  Mayflower,"  thus  associating  it  with  the  fetid 
Mayweed,  and  falsifying  its  character  by  an  anachronism 
that  assigns  to  the  month  of  May  a  flower  belonging  to 
April.  The  name  of  Mayflower,  as  applied  to  the  Epigea, 
means  nothing  except  what  is  false.  Almost  all  our  early 
flowers  belong  especially  to  the  month  of  May.  This  is 
distinguished  from  them  by  appearing  almost  alone  in 
April.  Its  popular  appellation  is  a  plain  misnomer ;  and 
as  an  apology  for  it,  the  name  is  said  to  have  been  given 
to  it  by  the  Pilgrims,  in  commemoration  of  the  ship  that 
brought  them  to  this  country.  I  cannot  believe  the  Pil- 
grims ever  took  any  notice  of  it.  Mayflower  is  a  name 


178  THE   CHECKERBERRY. 

that  originated  with  some  ignorant  people,  who  could  not 
think  of  any  better  name  than  the  one  it  bears  in  com- 
mon with  fifty  other  species. 


THE  BEARBERRY. 

THE  Bearberry  is  a  more  common  plant,  and  more  ele- 
gant in  its  foliage,  with  less  conspicuous  flowers,  than  the 
ground  laurel  This  plant  covers  extensive  tracts  on  the 
borders  of  woods  and  partially  under  their  protection. 
The  foliage,  resembling  that  of  the  box,  has  always  been 
admired,  and  nothing  makes  a  neater  or  more  beautiful 
covering  of  the  turfs  which  it  adorns.  The  Bearberry  is  a 
native  of  both  continents.  It  abounds  in  light  sandy 
soils,  forming  a  frequent  undergrowth  of  a  pitch-pine 
wood.  The  berries  are  eaten  by  quails  and  robins  in 
winter,  when  they  can  seldom  find  any  animal  food 
except  a  few  dormant  insects. 


THE   CHECKERBERRY. 

THE  Checkerberry  is  peculiarly  an  American  plant,  well 
known  by  its  pleasant  aromatic  flavor,  its  shining  ever- 
green leaves,  its  delicate  white  flowers,  and  its  scarlet  ber- 
ries. There  are  no  wild  fruits  so  attractive  to  young  per- 
sons, from  the  time  they  begin  to  redden  in  the  autumn, 
and  all  through  the  winter,  when  the  ground  is  open, 
until  they  are  seen  hanging  on  the  vine  with  the  blossoms 
of  spring.  Indeed,  this  fruit  is  not  perfected  until  it  has 
remained  on  the  bush  during  the  winter.  The  severest 
cold  has  no  effect  upon  it ;  and  the  berries  increase  in 


THE   CHECKERBERRY.  179 

size,  after  the  spring  opens,  until  they  become  as  large  as 
strawberries. 

This  plant  is  very  abundant  in  all  woods  in  New  Eng- 
land, and  seems  to  be  confined  to  no  particular  soil  or 
situation.  Indeed,  I  doubt  whether  another  woody  plant 
can  be  found  so  generally  distributed  throughout  the  New 
England  forest.  If  it  has  any  preferences,  they  seem  to 
be  the  lower  slopes  of  wooded  hills  and  mountains.  But 
I  have  seen  it  in  all  locations  where  it  can  enjoy  the  pro- 
tection of  trees,  in  evergreen  as  well  as  deciduous  woods ; 
for  though  the  leaves  of  the  pine  prevent  the  growth  of 
any  considerable  underwood,  the  Checkerberry  is  always 
abundant  in  the  openings  of  a  pine  forest. 


LILY-PONDS. 

SOME  of  the  most  delightful  prospects  are  comprised 
within  a  narrow  compass ;  and  such,  indeed,  are  the  aver- 
age of  those  scenes  which  have  been  selected  for  the  paint- 
er's canvas.  When  we  ascend  a  high  mountain,  we  gen- 
erally observe  that  the  most  enchanting  views  are  beheld 
from  some  point  not  far  from  its  base,  where  the  objects 
of  attention  are  circumscribed  by  surrounding  eminences. 
A  valley  of  small  extent,  inshrined  among  wooded  hills, 
if  it  be  not  so  exhilarating  as  a  scene  of  wider  view,  is 
certainly  more  satisfactory  and  more  picturesque.  Here 
the  imagination  finds  scope  for  agreeable  exercise,  with- 
out the  weariness  produced  by  a  view  of  illimitable  space, 
and  the  consequent  seeking  after  something  beyond  our 
ken.  Nature  does  not  surfeit  her  intelligent  creatures 
with  scenes  of  beauty  or  grandeur.  She  economizes  her 
wealth  and  her  resources,  and  makes  no  attempt,  like 
ambitious  men,  when  improving  her  works,  to  dazzle  the 
sight  with  uninterrupted  splendor.  She  has  opened  many 
little  valleys  among  the  hills,  to  collect  within  them  a 
greater  amount  of  beauty  than  she  assigns  to  ordinary 
places ;  and  to  crown  them  with  the  highest  attractions 
she  has  placed  a  lily-pond  in  their  centre,  to  present  at 
one  view  all  that  is  charming  in  landscape,  either  to  the 
painter  or  the  poet. 

All  the  beauty  of  nature  and  all  the  life  of  the  woods 
gather  spontaneously  about  a  lily-pond.  Here  assemble 
the  water-birds  of  various  plume,  attracted  by  the  fishes 
and  the  plants  that  are  gathered  around  the  shore.  The 


! 


LILY-PONDS.  183 

sands  of  them  still  quietly  sleeping  in  the  forest,  unshorn 
of  their  original  attractions.  On  the  boundaries  of  these 
virgin  waters,  Nature  still  presides,  where  Art  has  not  in- 
troduced her  affectations,  nor  Pride  desecrated  'a  single 
scene  by  her  baleful  ornaments.  There  is  not,  during  all 
the  season,  a  day  when  the  plaintive  song  of  the  veery 
may  not  be  heard  from  the  shore  proclaiming  itself  the 
chief  chorister  of  the  woods,  from  the  time  of  the  flower- 
ing of  the  rhodora  until  the  clethra  scents  the  groves 
in  midsummer;  while  the  fairest  flowers,  the  clearest 
fountains,  birds  that  dwell  in  sacred  retreats  never  pro- 
faned by  the  plough,  trees  that  for  centuries  have  spread 
their  harps  to  the  tuneful  gales,  roses  that  have  annually 
offered  the  purest  incense  to  the  skies,  ambrosial  herbs 
that  deck  the  ground  with  their  verdure,  then  perish  and 
offer  their  leaves  as  a  balm  to  the  sick, —  cupbearers  of 
incense  to  the  dewy  morn  and  even,  —  all  rise,  and  bud 
and  bloom,  and  scatter  their  fragrance,  and  weave  a  warp 
of  beauty  in  a  friendly  ambuscade  around  the  dwelling- 
place  of  the  water-lilies. 

The  angler,  if  he  be  either  a  philosopher  or  a  natu- 
ralist, can  deeply  feel  the  charm  of  all  these  objects. 
I  can  imagine  no  man  more  happy  than  one  who,  after 
passing  the  greater  part  of  the  day  in  the  occupation  that 
affords  him  a  livelihood,  resorts  to  these  secluded  retreats 
to  obtain  that  tranquillity  which  cannot  be  found  in  the 
bustle  of  commerce,  to  breathe  the  incense  rising  to 
heaven  wherever  the  flowers  are  bathed  in  dew,  and  to 
gaze  upon  the  charming  array  of  beautiful  things  that 
sparkle  around  the  altar  of  Nature.  Bright  gem  of  the 
forest,  fixed  under  the  brows  of  these  wooded  hills  for 
the  baptism  of  the  votaries  of  Nature  into  her  inner  sanc- 
tuary of  delights  !  Above  thy  glassy  wave  the  happy 
angler  may  watch  the  shifting  forms  of  the  clouds  as  they 
pass  languidly  over  its  mirrored  surface,  while  zephyrs 


184  LILY-PONDS. 

laden  with  the  perfume  of  violets  hover  round  him  and 
fan  him  with  their  wings.  Among  these  scenes,  how 
beautiful  are  the  shadows  that  rest  upon  the  silvery  pond, 
and  how  musical  the  sounds  that  come  up  mysteriously 
from  the  woods  and  dingles  ! 

Our  lily-ponds,  for  the  most  part,  are  surrounded  by 
hills,  that  form  a  basin  for  their  waters,  and  become  the 
principal  source  of  their  replenishment.  Not  in  the 
deep  waters,  however,  nor  under  the  steep  banks,  but 
in  the  shallows,  near  the  outlet,  do  the  water-lilies  con- 
gregate, fixing  their  roots  in  the  alluvium,  and  extending 
their  long  stems  upward  to  the  length  required  for  raising 
the  bud  to  the  water's  brink.  As  soon  as  it  has  gained 
this  height  it  is  ready  to  become  a  flower,  which  expands 
about  the  third  hour  after  sunrise,  and  remains  open  until 
the  shadows  of  the  woods  are  cast  upon  it  in  the  after- 
noon. If  at  any  hour  the  sky  should  be  overcast  with 
clouds,  the  flowers  close  their  petals,  yielding  their  honors 
to  the  more  homely  yellow  lily,  the  pontederia,  and  the 
nodding  sarracenia  upon  the  shore.  All  the  seasons  have 
garnered  around  these  waters  a  portion  of  their  stores ; 
and  both  to  the  naturalist,  who  studies  the  character  and 
habits  of  animate  and  inanimate  objects,  and  to  him  who 
chiefly  observes  nature's  beautiful  aspects,  the  lily-pond 
is  a  page  written  over  and  over  with  myriads  of  lines, 
letters,  and  pictures,  without  confusion,  and  perfectly  legi- 
ble to  those  who,  spurning  the  pleasures  of  a  luxurious 
life,  resort  here  to  live  nearer  to  nature  and  to  happiness. 


THE  BEECH.  •    . 

THE  Beech  is  a  common  tree  in  all  our  woods,  where  it 
is  distinguished  by  the  length  and  size  of  its  smooth  clean 
shaft,  which  is  often  perceptibly  ribbed  or  fluted.  In 
dense  assemblages  these  columns,  rising  to  the  height  of 
sixty  or  seventy  feet,  are  very  striking,  and  the  more  so 
when  the  land  is  covered  entirely  with  Beech  timber. 
The  suckering  habit  of  this  tree  and  its  vigorous  consti- 
tution are  the  important  cause  of  its  predominance  in 
any  tract  that  is  occupied  by  it,  and  the  close  matting 
of  leaves  that  covers  the  ground  under  a  beechen  wood 
prevents  any  abundance  of  undergrowth.  The  same  in- 
convenient habit  is  the  cause  of  its  rareness  in  dressed 
grounds.  George  Barnard  says  of  the  English  Beech : 
"  In  no  tree  are  the  decaying  hues  of  autumn  more  beau- 
tiful than  in  the  Golden  Beech,  its  foliage  changing  from 
green  to  the  brightest  orange,  then  to  glowing  red,  and 
eventually  to  a  russet  brown,  in  which  state  the  leaves 
remain  on  the  tree  through  the  winter."  The  leaf  of  the 
American  Beech,  on  the  contrary,  is  remarkably  dull  in  its 
autumnal  tints.  It  turns  to  a  rusty  yellow  in  the  au- 
tumn, gradually  fades  to  a  leather-color,  and  drops  from 
the  tree  near  midwinter. 

The  style  and  spray  of  the  Beech,  as  observed  in  its  de- 
nuded state,  are  worthy  of  particular  study.  The  lower 
branches  of  the  tree  are  generally  very  long  and  rather 
slender.  They  take  an  almost  horizontal  direction  when 
they  start  from  the  tree,  but  soon  make  a  curvature  by 
turning  regularly  upwards,  and  causing  a  peculiar  prim- 


186.  THE   BEECH. 

ness  in  their  general  appearance.  Every  small  twig  also 
turns  upwards,  pointed  with  elongated  leaf-buds,  resem- 
bling so  many  little  spears.  The  terminal  branches,  form- 
ing the  spray,  are  very  numerous  and  slender,  and  re- 
markably beautiful.  The  Beech,  when  in  full  leaf,  is  seen 
to  the  best  advantage  where  it  skirts  the  edge  of  a  wood, 
if  it  has  grown  up  there  since  the  original  clearing.  In 
that  situation  we  perceive  the  elegant  sweep  of  its 
branches,  and  the  upright  character  of  its  leaves,  each 
leaf  pointing  obliquely  upwards  in  the  direction  of  the 
spray,  instead  of  hanging  loosely  in  all  ways,  like  the 
foliage  of  the  large-leaved  poplars.  Deciduous  trees  have 
generally  a  drooping  foliage,  and  the  want  of  this  habit  in 
the  Beech  gives  it  a  very  lively  appearance.  The  heavi- 
ness attributed  by  Gilpin  to  the  English  tree  is  not 
observed  in  the  American  Beech ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is 
remarkable  for  a  certain  airiness,  seldom  putting  forth 
its  branches  in  masses,  but  in  such  a  manner  that  every 
spray  may  be  traced  by  the  long  upright  rows  of  leaves. 

I  should  hesitate  in  saying  that  on  cultivated  ground, 
and  as  a  standard,  the  Beech  would  display  those  quali- 
ties which  are  most  admired.  It  is  chiefly  interesting 
by  the  woodside,  or  skirting  the  banks  of  a  stream.  The 
stiffness  of  its  foliage  renders  it  ungraceful  as  a  solitary 
standard.  It  may  be  remarked,  in  its  favor,  that  it  differs 
so  widely  in  its  ramification  from  other  deciduous  trees  as 
to  add  a  pleasing  variety  to  any  miscellaneous  assemblage 
of  species.  I  can  easily  believe  that  it  is  not  a  favorite 
resort  for  birds ;  for  its  branches  are  too  long  and  slender 
for  their  convenience,  and  its  foliage  too  thin  to  give 
them  a  feeling  of  seclusion.  If  I  were  to  plant  a  grove 
of  beeches,  I  would  select  the  crumbling  banks  of  water- 
courses, where  the  trees  would  bind  the  fragile  soil  with 
their  roots  and  cover  the  banks  and  the  hillside  with  a 
beautiful  wood  and  an  agreeable  shade. 


THE   BEECH.  187 

The  tendency  of  the  Beech  to  produce  mosses  and 
lichens  upon  its  trunk  and  branches  has  been  observed 
by  the  earliest  writers.  It  is  also  a  matter  of  common 
observation  among  woodmen.  No  such  growth,  however, 
is  seen  upon  beeches  that  stand  alone  or  in  an  open 
grove.  These  parasites  are  generated  by  the  dampness  of 
a  thick  forest ;  and  they  attach  themselves  equally  to  the 
bark  of  other  trees  in  the  same  damp  situations,  but  can- 
not adhere  to  it  if  it  be  rough  or  scaly.  The  smooth  bark 
of  the  Beech,  and  of  the  red  maple  while  it  is  young,  per- 
mits such  plants  to  foster  themselves  upon  it,  and  adhere 
to  it  without  disturbance. 


THE  EUSTIC  LANE  AND  WOODSIDE. 

NATURE  is  greatly  indebted  to  Art  for  many  of  her 
attractions,  if  it  has  not  been  exercised  for  the  purpose 
which  is  effected  by  it.  We  see  this  not  only  in  wood- 
paths,  which  all  will  agree  are  the  most  delightful  parts 
of  a  wood,  but  in  many  other  operations  of  a  rude  agricul- 
ture, more  especially  in  the  rustic  lane.  It  is  no  matter 
whether  the  lane  be  bordered  by  trees  and  shrubbery,  or 
only  by  a  plain  wooden  fence  or  loose  stone-wall,  pro- 
vided for  several  seasons  it  has  been  entirely  neglected. 
It  must  have  been  long  enough  under  nature's  sponta- 
neous action  to  restore  that  condition  of  the  turf  that  pre- 
cedes cultivation,  to  green  the  borders  with  ferns  and 
mosses,  and  to  gem  their  velvety  heaps  with  anemones 
and  violets.  The  nice  trimming  and  weeding  which  are 
generally  apparent  in  all  the  paths  and  avenues  of  a 
country-seat  or  a  model  farm  deprive  them  of  the  attrac- 
tions of  the  rustic  lane.  No  matter  how  many  flowers 
are  cultivated  in  the  borders  of  one  of  these  trim  ave- 
nues, it  is,  after  all,  only  an  exhibition  of  splendor  and 
luxury.  It  delights  the  eye,  but  it  cannot  win  the  heart. 
It  is  only  a  conservatory  of  elegance ;  it  is  not  a  paradise. 

If  we  follow  the  course  of  any  rustic  lane  which  has 
not  been  improved,  bounded  by  a  rude  fence  of  any 
kind  which  will  form  a  support  for  the  plants  that  come 
up  beneath  it,  we  see  the  climbing  and  creeping  plants 
in  their  unrestrained  freedom  and  beauty.  If  in  the 
course  of  our  walk  we  meet  with  a  rude  shed  or  any 
building  old  enough  to  be  overgrown  with  mosses  and 


THE  KUSTIC  LANE  AND  WOODSIDE.  189 

incrusted  with  lichens,  its  walls  are  sure  to  be  covered 
either  with  the  climbing  sumach  or  the  Virginia  creeper ; 
for  these  plants  seem  designed  by  nature  as  the  native 
embroidery  of  all  neglected  places  and  buildings.  On 
many  accounts,  the  most  interesting  plants  are  the  climb- 
ers and  creepers.  Whether  it  be  that  we  associate  them 
with  the  idea  of  dependence  on  their  part  and  of  protec- 
tion on  the  part  of  the  tree  or  other  object  that  supports 
them,  or  whether  their  ascent  may  suggest  the  idea  of 
motion  and  progression,  causing  them  to  resemble  a  liv- 
ing creature,  they  never  fail  to  interest  the  spectator,  and 
to  fill  his  mind  with  many  poetic  images. 

The  Virginia  creeper  possesses  all  the  advantages  of  the 
English  ivy,  save  that  it  is 'not  an  evergreen.  But  its 
deciduous  character  is  not  to  be  regarded  as  a  defect,  since 
if  it  were  an  evergreen  it  would  want  its  annual  attrac- 
tions of  scarlet  and  crimson  that  distinguish  it  in  autumn. 
In  this  particular  it  is  not  surpassed  by  any  production 
of  the  American  forest,  except  the  red  maple.  These 
colors  render  it  very  conspicuous  in  October,  when  it  sur- 
rounds the  trunks  and  branches  of  some  of  the  tallest 
trees  with  its  -garlands  of  crimson,  hiding  them  under  its 
own  splendid  frondage.  There  is  not  a  rustic  lane  where 
it  is  not  seen  creeping  over  the  fences  and  mixing  its 
glowing  tints  with  other  wayside  plants.  It  is  particu- 
larly luxuriant  by  the  woodside ;  for  though  it  is  com- 
mon in  the  deep  forest  it  grows  feebly  and  is  deficient 
in  leaves  until  it  gains  the  summits  of  the  trees.  It 
needs  the  broad  eye  of  day,  and  prospers  only  upon  trees 
that  stand  outside  of  a  wood.  No  other  climbing  plant 
is  so  generally  used  in  New  England  as  a  drapery  for 
houses  and  fences,  taking  the  place  occupied  in  Europe 
'by  the  ivy.  Many  old  houses  are  covered  by  it,  and 
many  an  old  stone-wall  is  completely  enveloped  in  its 
foliage. 


190  THE  EUSTIC   LANE  AND  WOODSIDE. 

The  poison  ivy,  or  climbing  sumach,  is  the  only  rival 
of  the  Virginia  creeper  in  our  woods.  It  is  even  more 
common  in  open  fields,  and  though  less  luxuriant,  surpass- 
es it  in  the  beauty  of  its  leaf.  It  is  a  very  pertinacious 
parasite,  adhering  very  closely  to  the  object  that  supports 
it,  with  its  innumerable  rootlets,  but  sustaining  life  only 
by  communication  with  the  soil  The  growth  of  this 
plant  is  discouraged  on  account  of  the  liability  of  many 
persons  to  be  injuriously  affected  by  its  poisonous  prop- 
erties. Those  who  are  not  familiar  with  wild  plants  are 
generally  unable  to  distinguish  the  poison  ivy  from  the 
Virginia  creeper.  Their  general  appearance  and  habits 
are  nearly  the  same,  but  their  leaves  furnish  a  sure  mark 
of  distinction.  They  are  compound  in  each ;  but  those 
of  the  Virginia  creeper  are  in  fives,  those  of  the  poison 
ivy  in  threes,  without  exception. 

As  we  pass  along  the  rustic  lane,  where  it  is  involved 
in  deep  shadow  by  a  dense  growth  of  shrubbery  and  vines 
we  see  the  woody  nightshade  adorning  the  mass  with  its 
singular  halberd-shaped  leaves,  its  dark. blue  flowers  with 
a  golden  centre,  and  its  pendent  clusters  of  scarlet  fruit. 
I  know  but  few  plants  of  which  so  little  has  been  said 
that  possess  a  greater  share  of  beauty.  There  is  a  com- 
mon prejudice  against  the  woody  nightshade,  from  its 
supposed  poisonous  qualities,  and  from  our  habit  of  iden- 
tifying it  with  the  deadly  nightshade  of  Europe.  If  our 
plant  has  some  poisonous  qualities,  they  are  not  of  a 
dangerous  character.  All  parts  of  it  may  be  bruised 
and  handled  with  impunity,  and  its  berries  are  so  nau- 
seous to  the  taste  and  smell  that  they  are  not  liable  to  be 
eaten. 

In  the  wild  hedgerows  that  skirt  our  fields  and  farms, 
made  up  of  viburnum,  elder,  cornel,  hazel,  and  wild 
rose-bushes,  the  woody  nightshade,  in  company  with  the 
glycine,  contributes  greatly  to  the  interest  attached  to 


THE  RUSTIC   LANE  AND  WOODSIDE.  191 

these  flowering  thickets.  What  excites  my  surprise  is  that 
so  few  persons  praise  this  modest  little  climber.  How 
would  its  varied  foliage,  interwoven  with  that  of  more 
luxuriant  plants,  the  deep  but  contrasted  colors  of  its 
flowers  and  fruit,  and  its  constant  presence  in  the  borders 
of. all  wet  fallows,  attract  the  admiration  of  a  painter  who, 
imbued  with  a  love  of  nature  equal  to  his  love  of  art, 
should  attempt  to  paint  a  New  England  stone-wall  with 
its  many  native  accompaniments  ! 

A  more  conspicuous  climber,  and  more  common  by  the 
woodside  than  by  the  rustic  lane,  is  the  bitter-sweet. 
It  is  seen  climbing  over  trees,  not  attaching  itself  by 
rootlets  or  tendrils,  but  twining  round  its  supporter,  like 
the  morning-glory.  It  is  often  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  in 
height,  covering  some  unfortunate  tree  with  its  own  dense 
foliage,  and  finally  causing  it  to  perish  by  excluding  light 
and  air  from  it.  This  plant  is  well  known  to  simplers, 
who  have  named  it  bitter-sweet,  from  the  mingled  sweet 
and  bitter  of  the  scarlet  and  orange-colored  berries  which 
they  collect  for  medical  use.  I  cannot  learn  that  they 
contain  any  medicinal  virtue  ;  but  it  is  well  understood, 
in  these  days,  that  the  possession  of  decided  efficiency 
renders  any  medical  substance  unpopular.  All  popular 
remedies  are  physic  only  to  the  faith ;  hence  the  incom- 
parable virtues  of  saffron  and  elder-flowers,  whiteweed 
and  everlasting ! 

We  are  prone,  when  thinking  of  plants  merely  as  orna- 
ments of  nature,  to  forget  that  the  fruit-bearing  shrubs  and 
vines  have  in  general  anything  to  recommend  them  except 
their  fruit.  It  will  be  admitted  that  very  many  of  these 
plants  are  deficient  in  beauty ;  yet  I  will  confess  that  I 
have  often  admired  the  different  species  of  bramble,  which 
are  so  common  in  the  rustic  lane  and  woodside,  trailing 
over  fences  and  abrupt  elevations,  or  hanging  down  from 
projecting  cliffs,  and  exposing  their  clusters  of  red,  black, 


192  THE   RUSTIC  LANE  AND  WOODSIDE. 

and  purple  fruit.  Our  common  species  are  not  remarkable 
for  elegance  or  beauty,  but  the  country  waysides  would 
look  bald  and  cheerless  without  the  simple  decoration 
afforded  by  these  plants. 

Among  the  trailing  species  of  bramble,  one  of  the  most 
important  as  a  natural  ornament  of  lanes  and  field-borders, 
is  the  dewberry,  or  evergreen  blackberry.  It  is  very 
abundant  on  the  edges  of  woods,  where  the  trees  are 
thin  and  scattered,  and  in  pastures  covered  with  low 
shrubs,  where  it  may  be  recognized  by  its  small,  elegant, 
and  shining  leaves.  These  in  protected  situations  remain 
green  all  winter,  becoming  slightly  impurpled  as  spring 
advances.  The  dewberry  covers  with  its  close  network 
of  trailing  branches  the  virgin  turf  which  has  been  left  un- 
disturbed in  the  borders  of  lanes  and  wood-paths.  When 
the  soil  has  been  repeatedly  turned  by  the  plough,  this 
little  inhabitant  of  the  primitive  sods  gives  place  to  a 
larger  species,  that  trails  in  a  similar  manner  upon  the 
ground,  and  bears  an  excellent  fruit. 

The  only  native  species  of  bramble  which  is  admired 
for  the  beauty  of  its  flowers,  but  not  so  common  in  fields 
and  lanes  as  in  old  gardens,  is  the  flowering  raspberry. 
It  is  so  called  from  the  size  of  its  large  crimson  flowers 
with  a  yellow  disk,  resembling  a  dark  red  single  rose. 
The  leaves  of  this  species  are  not  pinnate,  like  the  leaves 
of  other  species  of  bramble,  but  palmate,  resembling  the 
leaf  of  the  striped  maple.  We  sometimes  find  it  in  a 
shady  nook,  concealing  itself  under  a  stone-wall,  and  sel- 
dom in  company  with  other  shrubs.  The  delicacy  of  its 
habit  unfits  it  to  contend  with  its  more  hardy  congeners, 
and  it  is  soon  driven  away  from  its  retreat  by  the  ingress 
of  other  species. 

I  have  not  yet  spoken  of  the  grapevine,  which,  if 
not  very  ornamental  in  gardens,  where  its  beauty  is 
marred  by  excessive  pruning,  cannot  be  surpassed  in  a 


THE   RUSTIC   LANE   AND  WOODSIDE.  193 

certain  kind  of  suggestive  or  relative  beauty.  Hence  the 
pleasure  it  affords  us  when  we  see  it  on  the  borders  of 
woods,  hanging  its  purple  clusters  of  fruit  over  some 
placid  stream  from  the  summit  of  an  alder,  or  hiding 
the  rudeness  of  a  neglected  building  with  its  broad  foli- 
age. There  is  hardly  an  old  road  or  rustic  byway  in 
the  interior  of  the  country  which  is  not  festooned  by 
wild  grapevines,  and  some  of  the  most  delightful  arbors 
on  old  country  roadsides  are  formed  by  these  vines,  trel- 
lised  upon  an  ancient  apple-tree  or  drooping  birch. 

When  a  green  by-road  passes  over  a  wet  meadow  and 
crosses  a  brook  under  a  natural  arch  formed  by  overhang- 
ing alders  fastened  together  by  creeping  vines,  the  shade 
afforded  by  this  arbor  is  greatly  heightened  by  a  twining 
canopy  of  clematis,  or  virgin's  bower,  climbing  over 
the  trees  and  shrubs,  always  keeping  on  the  outer  sur- 
face, and  supporting  itself  by  tendrils.  We  often  pass 
through  copses  of  shrubbery  completely  overspread  by 
this  vine,  rendered  conspicuous  when  in  fruit  by  multi- 
tudes of  little  silken  and  feathery  tufts,  which  are  far 
more  beautiful  than  its  flowers.  There  is  not  much 
beauty  in  this  plant,  and  I  attribute  the  interest  attached 
to  it  chiefly  to  its  poetical  name  and  the  romantic  history 
of  the  European  virgin's  bower. 


THE  CHESTNUT. 

MANY  admirers  of  trees  place  the  Chestnut  before  the 
oak  because  it  is  a  taller  tree  with  a  proportional  spread 
and  denser  foliage.  A  remarkable  peculiarity  in  the  style 
of  its  foliage  is  its  radiated  tufts,  giving  it  a  similar  ap- 
pearance to  that  which  is  so  apparent  in  the  horse-chest- 
nut. But  we  observe  an  important  difference  between 
the  two,  —  while  the  radiated  tufts  of  the  horse-chestnut 
are  distinctly  separated  by  spaces,  those  of  the  Chestnut 
seem  to  be  involved  in  a  general  and  more  indistinct  mass 
of  foliage.  A  notion  prevails  in  some  parts  of  Europe, 
that  this  tree  should  not  be  planted  near  dwelling- 
houses,  "because  the  flowers  emit  a  powerful  and  dis- 
agreeable odor,  which  is  offensive  to  most  people."  I 
have  not  observed  any  such  odor  from  the  American 
Chestnut. 

In  general  form  and  proportions  there  seems  to  be  no 
specific  difference  between  the  English  and  the  American 
chestnuts.  On  this  continent  it  is  a  majestic  tree,  re- 
markable for  the  breadth  and  depth  of  its  shade ;  but  it  is 
seldom  cultivated  by  roadsides.  It  displays  many  of  the 
superficial  characters  of  the  red  oak,  so  that  in  winter  we 
cannot  readily  distinguish  them.  The  foliage  bears  some 
resemblance  to  that  of  the  beech,  but  displays  more 
variety.  The  leaves  are  long,  lengthened  to  a  tapering 
point,  and  of  a  bright  and  nearly  pure  green.  Though 
arranged  alternately,  like  those  of  the  beech,  on  the  recent 
branches,  they  are  clustered  in  stars,  containing  from  five  to 
seven  leaves,  on  the  fruitful  branches,  that  grow  out  from 


planted  i 

- 


THE   SENTIMENT   OF  ANTIQUITY.  197 

pose  and  sobriety,  and,  like  rocks,  seem  to  be  a  part  of  the 
ground  they  stand  upon.  A  magnificent  building,  which 
was  at  first  too  highly  ornamented  with  the  gilding  of 
vanity  to  be  justly  valued  for  its  intrinsic  merits,  in  the 
course  of  time  becomes  sobered  into  an  expression  of 
simple  grandeur.  Many  such  edifices  exist  in  Europe, 
and  yield  to  its  artificial  landscapes  a  venerable  appear- 
ance which  is  entirely  wanting  in  those  of  America. 

Individuals  of  a  poetic  and  thoughtful  turn  of  mind  are 
j  generally  more  attached  to  the  old  than  to  the  new,  and 
the  improvements  they  are  willing  to  make  are  such  as 
are  not  destructive  of  the  historic  remnants  of  a  past 
century.  People  of  this  character  among  our  inhabitants 
are  lovers  of  Nature,  who  presents  to  their  sight  many 
of  the  semblances  of  antiquity.  A  wood  which  we  have 
always  frequented  may  be  the  only  object  in  our  village 
that  wears  an  ancient  look,  except  the  rocks  and  hills.  I 
am  aware  that  very  little  of  this  sentiment  pervades  the 
active  classes  of  American  society,  who  are  so  eager  to 
increase  their  wealth  by  new  enterprises,  that  every 
change  is  delightful  to  them  if  it  precedes  a  commercial 
adventure.  I  have  seen  men  in  raptures  over  the  de- 
molition of  some  of  the  most  charming  scenes  of  their 
boyhood,  on  beholding  them  laid  out  into  house-lots,  and 
advertised  for  sale.  They  are  so  deeply  interested  in 
advancing  the  price  of  "real  estate,"  that  they  do  not 
think  of  the  regret  with  which,  at  some  future  day,  they 
may  witness  the  desolation  that  has  followed.  These 
sacrifices  are  constantly  becoming  necessary  to  the  wants 
of  an  increasing  population  ;  but  if  our  people  were  more 
deeply  imbued  with  this  sentiment  of  antiquity,  many 
interesting  objects  would  be  preserved  which  are  need- 
lessly destroyed. 

The  women  of  America  have  generally  more  culture 
than  the  men,  except  among  the  literary  classes,  and  feel 


198  THE  SENTIMENT  OF  ANTIQUITY. 

more  regard  for  the  preservation  of  any  object  that  derives 
value  from  imagination  or  sentiment.  If  there  be  a  dozen 
persons  in  a  village  who  would  save  from  threatened  de- 
struction an  old  building  or  a  venerable  grove,  these  few 
are  chiefly  of  the  fair  sex.  The  regard  we  feel  for  such 
things  is  generally  proportioned  to  our  culture;  not  to 
our  intellectual  power,  which  is  quite  another  thing.  But 
men  of  active  and  practical  habits  are  prone  to  despise 
a  sentiment  that  lies  too  deep  for  their  sensibility,  and 
refuse  to  preserve  any  relic  of  the  past  that  will  not 
improve  the  commercial  value  of  their  own  property. 
The  wanton  sacrifice  of  trees  is  often  condemned  in  con- 
nection with  the  building  of  new  roads.  But  trees  are 
not  the  only  valuable  objects  in  a  natural  landscape.  The 
spade  and  tile  pickaxe  may  do  more  injury  than  the 
axe  of  the  woodman  to  the  face  of  the  country,  and  of  a 
kind  that  is  irreparable.  Collections  of  shrubbery  upon 
certain  picturesque  eminences,  fern-clad  rocks  projecting 
from  the  brow  of  a  hill  and  overhanging  the  roadside, 
have  the  charm  of  venerable  ruins  joined  with  the  fresh- 
ness, of  living  vegetation.  By  grading  all  these  to  one 
dead  level  or  slope,  the  scene  is  despoiled  of  its  beauty 
and  deprived  of  its  picturesque  associations. 

It  has  often  been  asserted  that  the  scenery  to  which 
men  have  been  accustomed  from  their  youth  produces  an 
effect  on  their  character  corresponding  with  its  state  of 
rudeness  or  cultivation,  its  tame  and  smooth  or  abrupt 
and  mountainous  surface.  The  influences  of  society, 
however,  must  greatly  counterbalance  these  effects,  which 
are,  after  all,  very  problematical  It  is  hard  to  believe 
that  the  wild  scenes  of  nature  would  turn  men  into  sav- 
ages, except  as  they  deprive  them  of  education  and  of 
intercourse  with  civilized  people.  On  the  other  hand,  it 
will  be  admitted  that  they  encourage,  by  their  peaceful 
solitudes,  any  meditative  habit  of  mind  which  certain 


THE  SENTIMENT   OF  ANTIQUITY.  199 

individuals  among  the  inhabitants  might  possess.  Our 
people  are  educated  to  admire  only  the  new  by  their  con- 
stant familiarity  with  new  buildings,  new  villages,  and 
new  cities;  and  the  tendency  of  all  these  objects  is  to 
foster  an  excessive  love  of  glare  and  ornament.  If  they 
have  any  regard  for  antiquity,  it  is  in  most  cases  a  pas- 
sion for  certain  relics  of  ancient  art  which  have  been 
imported  for  their  fashionable  value.  In  such  cases  the 
taste  for  antiquities  proves  to  be  nothing  more  than  a 
rage  for  novelties. 

A  writer  in  the  "  London  Critic  "  has  remarked  that  the 
Americans  ought  to  be  devout  worshippers  of  nature,  in- 
asmuch as  "twenty  steps  will  take  the  meditative  man 
into  the  wilderness."  But  this  remark  will  apply  only  to 
"  meditative  men."  The  active  members  of  our  popula- 
tion have  come  by  habit  to  regard  the  natural  condition 
of  the  country  as  the  great  obstacle  in  the  way  of  their 
material  prosperity,  and  they  feel  no  affection  for  objects 
that  must  be  destroyed  to  promote  their  thrift.  We  can- 
not love  anything  which  is  a  hindrance  to  our  success  in 
any  darling  project.  The  most  devout  lovers  of  nature 
in  this  country  are  among  those  who  were  brought  up  in 
the  oldest  towns  and  villages,  where  the  primitive  forest 
has  been  succeeded  by  one  of  sparser  growth,  who  prize 
their  trees  and  groves  as  property  increasing  in  value, 
and  look  upon  them  with  pleasure  as  a  part  of  their  valu- 
able possessions.  A  familiarity  with  the  new  prompts  to 
enterprise,  speculation,  and  mechanical  invention.  Old 
scenes  and  objects  encourage  thought,  stimulate  the  ima- 
gination, and  foster  the  poetic  sentiment.  The  lovers  of 
the  new  are  pleased  with  art  chiefly  as  it  contributes  to 
show  and  splendor ;  the  lovers-  of  the  old,  as  it  serves  to 
render  the  scenes  of  this  earth  better  subjects  of  inspira- 
tion. Hence  the  genial  influence  of  an  old  country  full 
of  venerable  ruins.  On  this  continent  art  is  almost  en- 


200  THE  SENTIMENT  OF  ANTIQUITY. 

tirely  new,  and  has  been  used  rather  for  the  display  of 
art  than  to  awaken  any  noble  sentiment. 

The  pleasure  afforded  a  lover  of  antiquity  by  the  scenery 
of  a  new  country  must  be  awakened  chiefly  by  the  objects 
of  nature ;  for  art  is  disagreeably  vapid  and  ostentatious 
where  the  wealthy  inhabitants  are  chiefly  ambitious  to 
surpass  each  other  in  the  parade  of  their  resources.  If 
the  wild  and  rude  character  of  the  landscape  were  de- 
stroyed, if  the  spontaneous  woods  were  despoiled,  and 
nothing  remained  but  a  general  baldness,  nature  would 
afford  but  little  relief  from  the  glare  and  insipidity  of 
ornamental  art.  Yet  I  cannot  feel  that  the  venerable 
buildings  of  an  old  country  full  of  antiquities  would  make 
amends  for  the  absence  of  the  wild  and  spontaneous  scenes 
of  nature.  Not  many  districts  on  the  old  continent  can 
be  so  attractive  as  New  England,  which  more  than  any 
other  land  displays  that  charming  intermixture  of  the 
wildness  of  nature  and  the  beauties  of  civilized  art  which 
is  apparent  in  all  the  interior.  And  these  features  it  will 
always  retain,  so  long  as  the  man  who  tills  the  soil  is 
the  owner  of  it,  and  every  laboring  farmer  is  an  indepen- 
dent yeoman. 


:n  their  genera  I 
e  Hick  :>ter  prop'or. 

' 

. 
' 


THE  HICKORY. 

THE  Hickory,  including  several  species,  is  very  gen- 
erally distributed  over  this  continent,  but  is  found  in  no 
other  part  of  the  world.  It  is  distinguished  from  the 
walnut  by  its  foliage  and  general  habit  of  growth,  by  the 
smaller  number  of  leaflets  on  the  leaf-stern,  and  by  their 
darker  color  and  firmer  texture.  The  aments  of  the 
Hickory  are  in  threes,  and  the  outer  shell  of  the  fruit 
opens  at  four  angles  when  it  is  ripe ;  the  aments  of  the 
walnut  are  single,  and  the  outer  shell  of  the  nut  is  undi- 
vided. The  two  trees  differ  also  in  their  general  appear- 
ance. The  Hickory  rises  to  a  greater  proportional  height, 
with  less  length  and  spread  of  the  branches,  the  lower 
ones  being  higher  from  the  root  of  the  tree  and  smaller 
than  those  of  the  walnut.  Many  of  the  trees  are  flattened 
at  the  top,  and  take  a  cylindrical  form,  when  they  ap- 
proach to  any  regularity ;  but  their  outlines  are  more 
frequently  irregular,  displaying  frequent  gaps,  and  pre- 
senting several  distinct  masses  of  foliage. 

The  Hickory,  therefore,  when  full  grown,  has  seldom 
much  elegance,  and  little  of  the  beauty  of  grace  and  sym- 
metry. Its  picturesque  qualities  are  its  sturdy  habit,  its 
great  height,  its  dense  and  dark  green  foliage,  its  approach 
to  a  cylindrical  shape,  and  its  general  eccentricity  of  growth. 
I  have  never  seen  a  Hickory  with  long  spreading  branches 
like  those  of  the  butternut,  nor  with  neat  and  prim  foliage 
like  that  of  the  ash.  The  different  species  are  so  common 
in  all  the  southern  parts  of  New  England  as  to  form  a 
notable  arboreal  feature  of  our  landscape.  In  Massachu- 

9* 


202  THE  HICKORY. 

setts  we  see  them  following  the  lines  of  the  old  stone- 
walls, having  come  up  from  nuts  planted  by  squirrels 
on  the  strip  of  land  around  the-  borders  of  the  fields.  We 
are  indebted  to  this  fortunate  circumstance  for  thousands 
of  beautiful  and  valuable  trees,  which,  but  for  this  narrow 
border  of  neglected  land,  would  not  have  been  allowed  to 
"  cumber  the  ground."  The  trees  that  originated  in  these 
borders  had  ample  room  to  expand,  assume  their  normal 
shape,  and  acquire  their  full  dimensions ;  and  as  we  see 
them  running  upwards  with  but  little  width,  we  may 
consider  this  to  be  their  natural  style  of  growth. 

Hickories  are  abundant  on  fertile  slopes,  near  brook- 
sides,  and  on  rocky  hills  that  abound  in  clay  and  yellow 
loam.  They  do  not  prosper  on  light,  sandy  soils,  and  are 
not  found  in  bogs.  They  are  even  a  better  indication 
of  a  fertile  soil  than  the  oak.  The  shellbark  alone  drops 
its  leaves  before  they  are  tinted  in  the  autumn.  The 
most  remarkable  species  in  New  England  are  the  shell- 
bark,  the'  fignut,  the  white  hickory,  and  the  bitternut. 
These  four-  have  nearly  the  same  outward  characters. 
They  are,  indeed,  so  much  alike  that  the  shellbark  alone 
is  readily  distinguished  by  the  exfoliation  of  the  outer 
rind  of  its  bark  as  soon  as  it  has  come  to  fruit-bearing. 
The  bark  of  the  other  three  species  is  channelled  or  fur- 
rowed, like  that  of  the  ash.  The  fruit  of  the  fignut  is 
fig-shaped ;  and  as  the  epithet  ficiformis  was  very  early 
applied  to  this  species,  it  is  evident  that  the  vulgar  name 
of  pignut  is  a  corruption  of  the  true  name,  which  ought  to 
be  restored. 

Had  the  old  painters  been  acquainted  with  the  Hickory, 
they  would  have  admired  it  beyond  most  other  trees. 
The  peculiarities  of  its  shape  are  remarkable.  The  breaks 
in  its  foliage  cause  that  variety  and  irregularity  of  outline 
which  are  generally  regarded  as  picturesque  qualities.  •  I 
see,  while  I  am  writing,  directly  before  my  window,  -a 


RELATIONS   OF  TREES  TO  TEMPERATURE.  205 

suits  of  all  that  science  has  yet  discovered  in  relation  to 
the  temperature  of  woods.  But  the  effects  of  clearing  the 
forest  are  so  different  in  different  situations  as  to  have 
given  origin  to  a  multitude  of  theories.  This  diversity 
of  opinion,  however,  comes  from  a  partial  observation  of 
facts,  without  their  qualifying  circumstances.  On  a  hot 
summer's  day  we  sprinkle  our  floors  with  water,  for  the 
purpose  of  cooling  the  air  of  the  room.  But  how  can  it 
produce  this  effect,  when  by  evaporation  it  carries  heat  from 
the  floor  into  the  very  air  that  is  cooled  by  it  ?  The  fact 
is  easily  explained.  The  greater  coolness  felt  when  the 
air  of  the  room  is  saturated  with  the  moisture  evaporated 
from  the  sprinkled  floor  might  not  be  exactly  indicated  by 
the  thermometer.  The  sensation  of  coolness  is  caused  by 
the  increased  power  of  the  air  to  conduct  the  heat  rap- 
idly from  our  persons, — the  effect  of  its  greater  humid- 
ity. By  the  same  law  we  may  explain  why,  after  a  few 
clear  cold  days  in  the  winter,  if  a  south-wind  arises,  we 
feel  as  if  the  cold  were  greater,  because  this  wind,  while 
it  raises  the  temperature,  charges  the  air  with  invisible 
moisture. 

The  coldness  of  the  atmosphere  over  grassy  meadows 
when  the  sky  is  clear,  after  the  decline  of  the  sun  in 
summer,  is  a  matter  of  common  observation.  As  this 
phenomenon  is  most  evident  on  the  clearest  nights,  it  has 
given  rise  to  the  notion  that  the  moon  cools  the  night  air. 
In  our  rambles  after  sunset,  we  have  all  felt  these  con- 
stant changes  of  temperature,  which  are  remarkable  when 
walking  over  an  uneven  road,  the  degree  of  heat  cor- 
responding nearly  with  our  altitude.  When  we  occupy 
high  ground,  the  air  is  warm  and  dry ;  as  soon  as  we  de- 
scend into  a  valley,  we  feel  a  sudden  chill.  These  differ- 
ences are  not  observed  on  a  cloudy  night,  or  when  a  clear 
brisk  wind  is  blowing.  But  in  a  calm  state  of  the  at- 
mosphere, as  the  lowest  stratum  of  air  contains  the  great- 


206  RELATIONS   OF  TREES  TO  TEMPERATURE. 

est  amount  of  moisture,  its  capacity  for  retaining  heat  is 
proportionally  diminished.  Consequently  the  heat  from 
the  ground  is  radiated  with  great  rapidity  through  this 
damp  stratum  of  air,  while  the  higher  strata  remain  un- 
changed in  their  temperature.  Indeed,  it  has  been  found 
by  experiment  that  while  the  greatest  heat  at  noonday  in 
calm  summer  weather  is  very  near  the  surface  of  the 
ground,  yet  after  dew-fall  the  highest  temperature  is 
several  feet  above  this  surface,  increasing  in  altitude  for 
some  hours  after  sunset. 

The  action  of  a  wood  checks  this  radiation  in  the  early 
part  of  the  night.  Like  clouds  in  the  evening,  the  trees 
form  a  canopy  of  foliage  over  the  ground,  and  thereby 
retain  the  heat  many  hours  after  it  has  esdaped  by  ra- 
diation in  the  open  plain.  According  to  these  laws  of 
the  radiation  of  heat,  a  longer  time  would  be  required  to 
cool  a  tract  of  forest  than  an  equal  area  of  open  space, 
down  to  a  given  point.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  a  pro- 
portionally longer  time  is  required  to  raise  the  tempera- 
ture in  the  woods  to  a  given  point.  Hence  it  is  still  a 
question  among  meteorologists  whether  the  mean  annual 
temperature  of  a  large  tract  of  country  is  higher  or  lower 
when  covered  with  forest  than  when  generally  open  and 
cleared.  The  sun  acts  with  greater  force  upon  an  open 
country  ;  but  the  radiation  of  heat  is  greater  in  the  same 
ratio  during  the  sun's  absence. 

In  considering  the  effects  of  clearing,  travellers  have 
often  overlooked  the  important  advantages  of  protection 
afforded  by  woods  to  agricultural  crops.  Even  if  the  mean 
annual  temperature  of  a  country  be  the  same  after  it  is 
cleared  as  when  it  was  covered,  it  may  at  the  same  time 
be  too  cold  for  certain  plants  which  were  formerly  its 
common  productions,  because  there  are  no  woods  to  pro- 
tect them  from  the  winds  by  day  or  from  the  cold  caused 
by  excessive  radiation  at  night.  Palestine,  two  thousand 


RELATIONS   OF  TREES  TO  TEMPERATURE  207 

years  ago,  was  a  well- wooded  country,  and  all  the  fruits 
of  the  sub-tropical  climates  were  raised  there  to  perfec- 
tion by  its  ancient  inhabitants.  The  date-palm,  the  fig- 
tree,  and  the  olive  grew  there  and  bore  fruit  abundantly. 
Palestine  is  now  a  treeless  country,  and  the  same  fruits 
are  incapable  of  enduring  its  climate ;  yet  recent  obser- 
vations have  demonstrated  that  its  climate  is  not  colder 
than  it  was  in  the  days  of  the  kings  of  Israel.  But  as 
the  country  has  been  despoiled  of  its  forests,  these  sub- 
tropical fruits  are  deprived  of  their  natural  conservatories, 
and  cannot  be  raised  without  great  labor  and  expense  in 
preparing  artificial  protection  for  them.  Let  the  forests 
be  restored  to  the  hills  and  mountains  of  Palestine,  and, 
though  the  temperature  of  its  summers  were  not  increased, 
the  fields  would  be  protected  by  these  forests  from  the 
winds,  and  the  tender  -fruits,  thriving  under  their  protec- 
tion, would  again  become  abundant. 

The  principles  involved  in  these  and  similar  facts  form 
a  distinct  branch  of  meteorological  science,  and  would  re- 
quire a  volume  for  their  illustration.  I  have  only  hinted 
at  some  of  the  general  conclusions.  It  is  evident,  in- 
deed, that  the  same  objects  that  serve  to  protect  us  from 
cold  may  in  an  equal  degree  protect  us  from  heat.  The 
woodcutters  will  continue  their  labor  in  a  deep  forest 
without  discomfort  on  a  winter's  day,  when  they  could  not 
endure  the  intense  cold  of  the  open  country.  The  earliest 
flowers  of  spring,  however,  are  found  neither  in  a  wood  nor 
in  an  open  meadow,  but  under  the  protection  of  a  wood 
on  its  southern  border,  in  little  openings  that  are  exposed 
to  the  beams  of  the  sun. 


THE  BUTTERNUT. 

THE  walnut  includes  two  species  in  this  country, 
the  Butternut  and  the  black  walnut,  both  trees  of  con- 
siderable note  and  importance.  The  Butternut  is  a  well- 
known  tree  in  the  Northern  States,  cultivated  to  a  great 
extent  in  rural  villages,  but  not  very  abundant  in  the 
forest,  from  which  it  has  probably  been  extirpated  for  the 
beauty  and  value  of  its  wood  in  cabinet-work.  It  is 
everywhere  seen  in  the  enclosures  of  farm-houses,  where 
it  is  valued  for  its  fruit  and  admired  as  a  shade-tree.  It 
is  not  so  tall  as  the  hickory,  and  differs  from  it  in  general 
shape,  as  I  have  already  remarked,  subdividing  itself  into 
several  large  and  equal  branches,  and  seldom  extending  a 
central  shaft  above  the  lowest  point  of  subdivision.  It  is 
a  tree  of  wider  spread  but  thinner  foliage  than  that  of 
the  hickory.  Its  pinnate  leaves  are  long,  with  a  great 
number  of  leaflets,  and  of  a  light  and  rather  mellow 
green.  It  resembles  the  black  walnut  in  its  botanical 
characters  ;  but  the  fruit  of  the  Butternut  is  more  elon- 
gated, that  of  the  black  walnut  being  nearly  globular. 

Every  one  is  familiar  with  the  Butternut-tree.  Its 
fruit  being  more  easily  obtained  than  that  of  the  hick- 
ory, and  ripe  at  an  earlier  period,  the  tree  is  generally 
plundered  before  the  time  for  gathering  it.  The  outer 
rind  is  pulpy,  and  full  of  a  bitter  sap  that  blackens 
the  hands  when  pressed  out  by  cracking  the  nuts  in  a 
green  state ;  for  the  kernel  is  ripe  while  the  shell  is  still 
green.  This  stain  may  be  removed  by  any  fresh  vege- 
table acid ;  and  for  this  purpose  boys  generally  procure 


THE   BLACK  WALNUT.  209 

the  leaves  of  sheep-sorrel,  with  which  they  rub  the  stains 
from  their  hands,  and  after  washing  in  soft  water  it  is 
found  to  be  entirely  removed,  if  no  soap  has  been  used. 
I  am  not  sure  that  painters  would  see  much  to  admire 
in  this  tree;  but  to  a  native  of  New  England  it  is  so 
pleasantly  associated  with  juvenile  feasts  of  nuts  in  the 
early  autumn,  gratuitously  strewed  by  the  green  wayside, 
and  with  the  simplicity  of  country  life,  that  it  is  difficult 
to  see  in  the  form  of  this  tree  anything  we  do  not  admire. 
If  its  foliage  is  thin,  its  proportions  are  handsome  and 
symmetrical,  and  when  in  its  prime  there  is  no  tree  that 
better  adorns  a  rustic  enclosure.  The  Butternut  puts 
forth  its  leaves  about  a  week  earlier  than  the  hickory. 
It  is  common  in  all  the  New  England  States,  especially 
on  the  Green  Mountain  range,  from  the  northern  parts  of 
New  Hampshire  to  the  Sound. 


THE  BLACK  WALNUT. 

The  Black  "Walnut  is  common  in  all  the  United  States 
below  the  latitude  of  Long  Island.  It  is  especially  abun- 
dant in  Pennsylvania,  and  is  also  found  singly  and  in  small 
scattered  groups  in  New  England.  It  is  a  larger  and  more 
hardy  and  rapid-growing  tree  than  the  English  walnut, 
but  it  bears  an  inferior  fruit.  This  tree  does  not  .differ 
from  the  butternut  in  general  characters,  but  it  is  of 
greater  height  and  more  majestic  in  appearance.  It  has 
very  long  pinnate  leaves,  of  a  pure  untarnished  green  and 
a  warmer  look  than  the  darker  foliage  of  the  hickory. 
Both  trees  produce  an  elegant  wood  for  cabinet-work,,  but 
that  of  the  Black  Walnut  is  preferred,  though  the  wood 
of  the  butternut  is  nearer  the  color  of  mahogany. 


THE  WHORTLEBERRY  PASTURE. 

THOKEAU  relates  that  he  once  thought  of  whortleberry- 
ing  as  an  occupation  for  a  livelihood.  This  was  said  in  a 
quaint  and  paradoxical  humor,  but  there  are  multitudes 
who  can  sympathize  with  the  feelings  that  prompted  his 
remark.  As  a  quiet  outdoor  amusement,  it  is  not*  sur- 
passed either  by  angling  or  botanizing ;  and  I  cannot  see 
why  the  whortleberry  field  should  not  have  its  Izaak 
Walton  as  well  as  the  lily-pond  or  the  trout-stream.  The 
freedom  enjoyed  in  the  open  pasture,  the  simple  and 
honest  people  whom  we  meet  there,  the  tiresome,  but 
still  agreeable  and  emulative  task  of  picking  the  fruit,  are 
only  a  fraction  of  our  enjoyments.  The  chirping  of  vari- 
ous insects,  and  their  constant  sportiveness  among  the 
bushes  ;  the  motions  of  birds  and  the  plaintive  melody  of 
the  wood-sparrow,  which  is  tuneful  nearly  the  whole  month 
of  August,  —  prepare  us  to  be  cheerful  and  delighted  with 
all  things.  The  cattle  feeding  carelessly  upon  the  hill- 
sides, the  scattered  groups  of  trees  and  the  cool  shadows 
they  cast  upon  the  green  turf,  the  sweetness  of  the  air, 
our  unrestrained  rambling,  the  precipitous  rocks  that  in- 
tercept our  way  only  to  disclose  a  bower  of  raspberries 
protected  by  their  walls,  the  mossy  seats  under  umbrageous 
pines,  the  countless  wild  flowers  on  every  knoll,  the  pleas- 
ant sensation  of  rest  after  weariness  and  of  coolness  after 
the  heat  of  exercise  and  weather,  all  combine  to  render 
the  whortleberry  pasture  a  field  of  delight  surpassing  all 
that  is  written  of  gardens  of  orange  and  myrtle. 

The   whortleberry   is    peculiarly   an   American    fruit; 


THE  WHOKTLEBERKY  PASTURE.  211 

though  a  few  species  are  common  in  Middle  and  North- 
ern Europe,  they:  are  in  no  part  of  the  world  so  abundant 
as  in  North  America.  The  whortleberry  tribe  of  plants 
form  a  conspicuous  feature  of  New  England  landscape, 
especially  near  the  coast.  No  single  species  has  been  do- 
mesticated, though  any  one  of  them  would  well  reward 
the  labor  of  the  cultivator  if  the  fruit  could  not  be 
obtained  from  the  fields.  Their  fruit  is  well  known  to 
the  inhabitants  of  the  Eastern  States.  Very  little  has 
been  written  upon  it,  and  few  persons  are  aware  of  its 
importance  to  the  inhabitants  of  North  America.  Bota- 
nists make  no  generic  distinction  between  the  whortleberry 
and  the  blueberry;  but  we  may  distinguish  the  two  at 
once  by  their  different  flavor,  and  not  by  their  color.  The 
whortleberry  is  less  acidulous,  less  mucilaginous,  and  con- 
tains a  harder  seed  than  the  blueberry.  The  flowers  of 
the  two  species  differ  as  widely  as  their  fruits :  those  of 
the  blueberry  are  large  and  white ;  those  of  the  whortle- 
berry are  greenish,  tipped  with  red,  smaller  and  more  con- 
tracted in  the  mouth.  There  is  no  family  of  plants  that 
runs  into  a  greater  number  of  varieties  in  a  wild  state ; 
but  I  have  never  seen  one  that  seemed  to  possess  the 
characters  of  the  blueberry  and  whortleberry  combined. 
With  regard  to  their  colors  it  may  be  remarked,  that  while 
there  are  blueberries  which  are  black,  there  is  no  whortle- 
berry which  is  purely  blue. 

It  may  truly  be  asserted  that  if  the  cherry  and  the 
whortleberry,  with  all  their  varieties,  were  to  become 
extinct,  the  want  of  the  latter  would  be  most  painfully 
felt  by  the  mass  of  our  population.  We  were  not  taught 
by  the  Europeans  to  appreciate  the  value  of  our  wild 
fruits.  "  In  Scotland,"  said  one  of  a  company  of  Scotch 
girls  whom  I  met  in  a  whortleberry  field,  "  we  have  no 
wild  fruits.  All  our  fruits  are  in  gardens."  In  this  coun- 
try, where  whortleberries  are  so  common  as  to  be  found 


212  THE  WHORTLEBEKKY  PASTURE. 

in  all  wild  lands  that  are  not  densely  wooded,  their  fruit 
constitutes  one  of  our  staple  productions,  of  greater  value 
to  us  than  even  the  cranberry,  except  as  an  article  of  ex- 
port. During  about  three  months,  from  the  first  of  July 
to  the  last  of  September,  millions  of  bushels  of  whortle- 
berries are  consumed  in  this  part  of  the  country.  People 
are  often  deceived  by  measuring  the  importance  of  any 
article  according  to  its  commercial  value.  Hence  the 
whortleberry  pastures  are  called  "  waste  lands."  But  were 
these  lands  deprived  of  their  products  of  wild  fruit,  the 
want  of  it  would  be  a  grievous  affliction  to  the  com- 
munity. How  many  poor  families  earn  their  livelihood 
in  summer  by  gathering  whortleberries  for  the  market ! 
How  many  delightful  excursions  does  this  fruit-gathering 
annually  afford  to  the  children  and  youths  of  our  land ! 
The  robin,  the  waxwing,  and  other  birds  that  consume  our 
cherries,  would  be  diverted  from  the  orchard  and  the  gar- 
den by  a  good  supply  of  fruit  from  the  bushes  of  an 
adjoining  field ;  and  our  cultivators  might  prevent  their 
depredations  by  planting  the  different  species  by  the  sides 
of  their  fences  and  in  all  open  situations  which  are  not 
adapted  to  tillage. 

As  an  object  in  the  landscape  and  a  field  for  the  bota- 
nist and  student  of  nature  the  whortleberry  pasture  is 
worthy  of  study  and  full  of  attractions.  This  scenery, 
with  all  the  spontaneous  mapping  of  its  beds  of  shrub- 
bery, its  groups  of  trees,  its  tussocks  of  mosses  and  ferns, 
its  little  green  hollows  spangled  with  flowers,  and  its  pro- 
jecting rocks  covered  with  brambles,  all  intersected  widely 
by  the  smooth  greensward,  is  peculiar  to  K"ew  England.  In 
the  Southern  States  the  whortleberry-bushes  are  more 
promiscuously  scattered,  and  are  not  seen  in  this  delight- 
ful grouping,  forming  with  the  trees,  fruits,  and  flowers 
a  true  symbol  of  the  beneficence  of  nature.  A  genuine 
whortleberry  pasture  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  gar- 


THE   WHORTLEBERRY   PASTURE.  213 

dens,  —  a  modern  Vale  of  Tempe,  a  true  Eden,  —  inas- 
much as  it  is  without  culture ;  and  abounds  from  early 
spring  till  waning  autumn  in  the  most  interesting  shrubs 
and  flowers  of  our  clime ;  in  August  and  September  spar- 
kling with  clusters  of  shining  black  and  azure  berries,  and 
possessing  a  value  which  only  a  New-Englander  knows 
how  to  prize. 

The  whortleberry  pasture  consists  chiefly  of  upland, 
extending  out  occasionally  into  a  level  meadow,  but  gen- 
erally of  a  hilly  and  uneven  surface,  covered  with  groves 
and  coppice.  The  pasture  must  have  been  fed  many 
years  by  cattle  to  acquire  its  distinguishing  features. 
Without  the  grazing  of  these  animals  the  ground  would 
be  evenly  covered  with  vines  and  bushes.  The  cattle, 
while  feeding  upon  the  grass,  consume  many  of  the  young 
plants  which  have  not  become  woody,  and  in  their  irreg- 
ular course  gradually  produce  this  grouping  in  a  manner 
which  is  entirely  inimitable  by  art.  Hence  in  an  old 
field  the  scattered  beds  of  shrubbery,  with  greensward 
between  them,  might  be  compared  to  a  map  of  islands, 
the  grass  being  represented  on  the  map  by  the  water  and 
the  bushes  by  the  land ;  the  greensward  sometimes  widen- 
ing into  a  broad  expanse  of  verdure,  and  then  beautifully 
intersected  by  intricate  masses  of  shrubbery. 

In  the  lands  surrounding  the  older  townships  only  do 
we  see  the  whortleberry  pasture  in  the  perfection  of  this 
picturesque  grouping,  laid  out  according  to  the  geometry 
of  nature.  In  the  new  settlements  the  bushes  are  mixed 
with  trees  and  stumps  in  the  clearings,  and  have  not 
acquired  any  arrangement.  But  if  a  whortleberry  field 
has  long  been  pastured  by  cattle  that  seldom  browse 
upon  the  shrubs,  the  different  kinds  of  vegetation  stand 
in  beautiful  groups  of  a  thousand  various  forms,  like  the 
figures  on  tapestry.  The  rocks  that  lift  up  their  gray 
heads,  sometimes  with  smooth  flat  surfaces,  sometimes  in 


214  THE  WHORTLEBERRY  PASTURE. 

lofty  protuberances,  covered  with  liverworts  and  patches 
of  variegated  lichens  and  mosses,  and  fringed  on  their 
edges  with  diminutive  shrubs,  form  no  unimportant  part 
of  this  peculiar  scenery.  In  every  old  pasture  the  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  shrubs  are  more  or  less  distinctly  arranged 
into  groups ;  some,  for  example,  consisting  chiefly  of  bay- 
berry,  others  of  roses  or  perhaps  of  brambles.  But  in  gen- 
eral the  plats  consist  of  a  promiscuous  variety  of  species, 
in  which  some  one  predominates.  One  of  the  most  com- 
mon of  these  social  plants  is  the  sweet-fern,  universally 
prized  for  its  fragrance,  at  the  very  name  of  which  we  are 
inspired  with  pleasant  recollections  of  youthful  wander- 
ings. The  lambkill  is  especially  prone  to  form  exclusive 
assemblages,  and  the  most  beautiful  individuals,  when  in 
flower,  are  generally  on  the  outside  of  the  group. 

But  there  is  no  end  of  the  smaller  plants  that  spring 
up  everywhere,  some  in  the  open  space,  others  under  the 
protection  of  a  tuft  of  sedge-grass  or  a  broad-leaved  fern. 
The  sweet-scented  pyrola  is  abundant  in  all  shady  thick- 
ets, and  the  cymbidium  and  arethusa  decorate  the  low 
grounds  among  the  nodding  panicles  of  quaking-grass  and 
the  spreading  flowers  of  meadow-rue.  The  loosestrife, 
with  its  long  pyramidal  spikes  of  yellow  flowers,  is  always 
conspicuously  grouped  in  the  low  grounds,  side  by  side  with 
similar  plats  of  low  swamp-roses  or  crimson-spiked  wil- 
low-herb. But  the  most  attractive  flower  in  the  whortle- 
berry pasture  is  the  red  summer  lily,  —  the  cynosure  of 
the  happy  children  who  assemble  there,  the  queen  of  the 
meadow,  and  the  delight  of  every  rambler  in  the  coppice. 

The  man  who  thinks  of  nature  only  as  a  field  for  the 
display  of  magnificent  art  may  sneer  at  these  rustic  scenes 
and  their  native  ornaments.  But  pride  cannot  make  un- 
adorned nature  contemptible,  nor  can  the  grandeur  of  a 
princely  estate  deprive  its  occupants,  if  their  culture 
equals  their  wealth,  of  the  interest  with  which  they  be- 


THE  WHORTLEBERRY  PASTURE.  215 

hold  a  field  covered  with  spontaneous  vegetation,  or  a 
simple  rustic  farm.  From  the  opening  of  spring  until  the 
fall  of  the  leaf,  the  whortleberry  pasture  is  a  garden  full 
of  the  fairest  flowers  and  the  most  healthful  fruits.  And 
if  Great  Britain's  isle  had  been  covered  with  whortle- 
berries, like  our  New  England  hills,  these  fruits  would 
have  been  celebrated  in  English  poetry,  like  the  fruit  of 
the  vine  and  the  olive  in  the  poetry  of  Greece  and  Eome. 

WHORTLEBERRIES  AND  HUCKLEBERRIES. 

We  may  vulgarize  a  word  by  associating  it  with  the 
market.  The  wild  pastures  abound  in  summer  with  well- 
known  fruits,  some  of  jet  and  some  of  azure.  We  go  out 
with  a  few  friends  and  gather  them  with  flowers,  for  pres- 
ent amusement.  These  fruits  are  Whortleberries.  This 
is  their  poetical  and  their  botanical  name,  the  one  that  is 
associated  with  all  the  beautiful  things  that  cluster  in 
the  same  field.  These  fruits  are  also  gathered  for  the 
market,  and  exposed  for  sale  with  cucumbers,  new  pota- 
toes, and  squashes.  They  are  now  Huckleberries.  Shelley 
has  defined  poetry  to  be  the  art  "  that  lifts  the  veil  from 
the  hidden  beauty  of  the  world,  and  makes  familiar  objects 
be  as  if  they  were  not  familiar."  This  is  done  partly  by 
a  choice  selection  of  words;  and  whenever  a  common 
thing  is  known  by  two  names  equally  euphonious,  we 
should  always  select  that  which  is  not  in  commercial 
use.  We  should  say  Whortleberries  if  we  are  writing  an 
essay  or  a  poem  about  them,  and  Huckleberries  if  we  are 
going  to 'buy  a  few  of  them  in  the  market.  The  usages 
of  the  market  in  other  matters  ought  to  be  excluded 
from  literature.  In  commerce,  for  example,  fishes  are 
fish ;  in  natural  history  fish  are  fishes. 


THE  HAZEL. 

"Now  let  us  sit  beneath  the  grateful  shade 
Which  Hazels  interlaced  with  elms  have  made." 

Virgil,  Eclogue  V. 

THE  Hazel,  under  which  Menalcas  invites  his  brother- 
shepherd  to  sit,  is  a  tree  of  considerable  size,  while  the 
American  hazels  are  mere  shrubs,  seldom  overtopping  a 
rustic  stone-wall.  The  Hazel  among  the  Romans,  like 
the  olive  among  the  Jews,  was  regarded  as  the  emblem 
of  peace  ;  and  this  estimation  of  it  was  transmitted  to  the 
people  of  a  later  period.  Hence,  in  popular  works  of 
fancy  on  the  language  of  flowers,  this  is  recorded  as  its 
symbolic  meaning ;  and  in  ancient  times  a  Hazel  rod  was 
supposed  to  have  power  of  reconciling  friends  who  had 
been  separated  by  disagreement.  These  superstitions  con- 
nected with  the  Hazel,  and  more  particularly  the  one 
relating  to  the  Hazel  rod,  named  the  Caduceus,  assigned 
by  the  gods  to  Mercury  as  a  means  of  restoring  harmony 
to  the  human  race,  probably  gave  origin  to  the  divining- 
rod,  which  was  first  made  of  Hazel  and  afterwards  of  the 
witch-elm.  It  is  remarkable  that  in  America  this  use 
was  made  of  the  hamamelis,  a  very  different  plant  in  its 
botanical  characters,  and  hence  called  the  Witch-Hazel. 

There  are  two  New  England  species,  both  delighting  in 
the  shelter  of  rude  fences,  and  producing  their  flowers  be- 
fore their  leaves.  They  are  distinguished  chiefly  by  the 
shape  of  their  fruit.  The  common  Hazel  is  the  one  most 
generally  known.  In  this  the  shells  or  husks  that  enclose 
the  nuts  are  of  the  same  round  shape,  growing  in  a  clus- 


THE  BUTTON-BUSH.  217 

ter,  and  each  invested  with  a  calyx  like  that  of  an  ordi- 
nary flower.  The  Beaked  Hazel  is  a  smaller  bush  and 
frequents  more  solitary  places  than  the  other.  "The 
calyx  enclosing  the  nut,  densely  hispid  and  round  at  base, 
is  contracted  like  a  bottle  into  a  long  narrow  neck,  which 
is  cut  and  toothed  at  the  extremity."  The  whole  nut 
with  its  envelope  resembles  a  bird's  head  and  beak.  A 
dry  sandy  loam  is  the  soil  generally  occupied  by  the 
HazeL  Along  the  old  roads  that  pass  over  dry  sandy 
plains,  that  border  many  of  the  river-banks  in  the  North- 
ern States,  the  Hazel,  growing  in  frequent  clumps,  forms 
in  some  of  these  locations  the  most  common  kind  of 
shrubbery.  When  we  see  a  pitch-pine  wood  on  one  side 
of  a  road,  the  cultivated  land  on  the  opposite  side  is 
usually  bordered  with  a  growth  of  Hazels. 

Both  species  are  particularly  worthy  of  protection  and 
preservation.  They  produce  a  valuable  nut  without  our 
care;  they  are  ornamental  to  our  fields  and  by-roads; 
they  feed  the  squirrels  and  shelter  the  birds,  and  they 
add  a  lively  interest  to  natural  objects  by  their  spontane- 
ous products.  The  Hazel  is  associated  with  many  pleas- 
ant adventures  in  our  early  days,  with  nut-gatherings 
and  squirrel-hunts,  and  with  many  pleasant  incidents  in 
classical  poetry.  The  Hazel  has  been  a  favorite  theme  of 
poets,  especially  those  of  the  Middle  Ages.  In  the  songs 
of  that  period  are  constant  allusions  to  the  Hazel-bush, 
probably  from  its  frequency  in  natural  hedgerows,  and  its 
valuable  fruit. 


THE  BUTTON-BUSH. 

NOT  much  has  been  written  of  the  Button-bush.     We 
hear  but  little  of  those  shrubs  that  do  not  readily  admit 
of  culture,  and  are  not  susceptible  of  modification  by  the 
10 


218  THE   CLETHRA. 

arts  of  florists.  The  Button-bush  is  confined  to  wet,  soli- 
tary places ;  indeed,  it  may  be  considered  a  true  aquatic, 
as  it  grows  in  most  cases  directly  out  of  the  water.  It  is 
associated  with  the  complaining  song  of  the  blackbird, 
whose  nest  is  often  placed  in  the  forks  of  its  branches, 
and  it  accompanies  the  ruder  aspects  of  nature.  It  is  far 
from  being  an  elegant  plant ;  and  the  little  beauty  it  pos- 
sesses belongs  to  the  perfectly  globular  shape  of  its  heads 
of  flowers,  which  are  nearly  white.  It  is  generally  seen 
bordering  the  sluggish  streams  that  flow  through  the 
level  swamps,  and  often  forms  little  islets  of  shrubbery 
in  the  middle  of  a  sheet  of  water. 


THE   CLETHRA. 

AFTER  the  flowers  of  the  azalea  have  faded,  we  are 
attracted  in  like  situations  by  a  similar  fragrance  from  the 
Clethra,  or  Spiked  Alder,  remarkable  as  one  of  the  latest 
bloomers  of  the  American  flowering  shrubs.  It  bears  its 
white  flowers  in  a  long  spike,  or  raceme,  somewhat  like 
those  of  the  black-cherry  tree.  The  Clethra,  when  in 
blossom,  is  not  destitute  of  elegance,  and  it  is  valuable 
for  the  lateness  of  its  flowering.  The  foliage  of  this 
plant  is  homely,  and  its  autumnal  tints  are  yellow, 
while  the  prevailing  tints  of  our  wild  shrubbery  are  dif- 
ferent shades  of  red  and  purple.  It  is  found  in  wet  and 
boggy  places,  where  it  is  very  common,  displaying  its 
floral  clusters  as  late  as  the  fourth  week  in  August.  This 
shrub,  when  cut  up  for  brushwood,  is  called  the  "  Pepper- 
bush"  by  the  fishermen  of  our  coast,  from  the  resem- 
blance of  its  roundish  fruit  to  peppercorns.  The  pic- 
turesque attractions  of  the  Clethra  are  not  to  be  despised, 
when  its  long  racemes  of  white  flowers  are  seen  project- 
ing from  crowded  masses  of  verdure  on  the  edges  of  the 
wooded  swamps. 


A  SUMMEE  NIGHT  IN  THE  WOODS. 

WHEN  the  decline  of  day  is  plainly  perceptible  in  the 
lengthened  shadows  of  the  trees  and  the  more  refresh- 
ing coolness  of  the  atmosphere,  many  rare  birds,  that 
since  morning  have  been  silent,  begin  their  songs  anew. 
Evening  comes  not  unattended  by  the  same  captivating 
splendors  that  lead  up  the  Morn,  and  the  same  melodies 
that  herald  her  approach.  As  she  descends  from  her  pavil- 
ion of  crimson  and  amber  to  spread  her  twilight  over  the 
earth,  calling  down  the  gentle  dews  from  heaven,  and 
bringing  refreshment  to  the  drooping  herbs,  the  heavens 
show  forth  their  gladness  in  the  myriad  hues  of  sunset,  and 
all  animated  nature  raises  a  shout  of  music  and  thankful- 
ness. But  there  is  a  pensiveness  in  the  melodies  of  evening 
that  sweetly  harmonizes  with  the  sober,  meditative  hour ; 
and  the  same  birds  that  in  the  morning  pour  out  their  me- 
lodious lays  as  from  hearts  full  of  rejoicing,  now  whisper 
them  in  accents  more  subdued,  like  the  quiet  breathing 
of  the  winds  as  they  are  wafted  over  the  sleeping  flowers. 

Just  before  the  sun  declines,  the  thrushes,  which  are 
true  forest  warblers,  are  very  tuneful,  and  continue  to 
sing  until  dusk.  The  note  of  the  little  veery  is  the  last 
to  be  heard,  and  when  his  song  has  ceased  the  night 
may  be  said  to  have  commenced ;  though,  even  after  this 
time,  the  sweet  notes  of  the  vesper-bird  are  occasionally 
poured  out  from  some  station  in  the  open  field.  But  in 
our  woods,  at  this  season,  silence  does  not  immediately 
ensue.  A  restlessness  prevails  among  the  feathered  tribes, 
as  if  they  were  yet  unprepared  to  renounce  the  pleasures 


220  A  SUMMER  NIGHT  IN   THE  WOODS. 

of  the  day.  At  intervals,  for  the  space  of  an  hour  after 
dusk,  an  occasional  note  of  complaint  is  heard  in  the 
thicket  from  different  birds,  —  a  shrill  chirp  from  some 
of  the  little  sylvias,  the  mewing  of  the  catbird  among  the 
alders,  and  the  querulous  smack  of  the  red  thrush. 

Sometimes  for  several  minutes  hardly  a  voice  from  any 
creature  is  heard,  and  the  rustling  of  the  night-wind 
through  the  tremulous  leaves  of  the  poplar,  or  its  moaning 
among  the  high  branches  of  the  pine,  resembling  the 
murmurs  of  distant  waters,  are  the  only  sounds  that  meet 
the  ear.  But  this  dreary  stillness  is  not  of  long  dura- 
tion. "The  droning  flight  of  the  beetle,  and  the  whirring 
of  various  kind  of  moths  that  are  busy  among  the  foliage 
of  the  trees,  are  the  accompaniments  of  a  summer  night, 
suggesting  to  the  fancy  the  passing  of  a  ghost,  and  filling 
the  mind  with  many  mysterious  conjectures.  Sometimes 
the  owl,  on  his  soft  silken  wings,  glides  along  with  stealthy 
and  noiseless  flight,  and  we  are  soon  startled  by  his  peculiar 
hooting,  —  a  sound  which  I  can  imagine  must  be  terrific 
to  the  smaller  inhabitants  of  the  wood. 

At  midnight,  in  general,  the  stillness  of  the  winds  is 
greater  than  by  day,  and  the  gurgling  of  streams  is  heard 
more  distinctly  amid  the  general  hush  of  nature.  Sounds 
are  now  the  most  prominent  objects  of  attention ;  and 
every  noise  from  distant  places  booms  distinctly  over  the 
plains  and  hollows.  We  are  affected  with  something  like 
a  superstitious  feeling  at  night,  that  disposes  us  to  listen 
with  solemn  attention  to  every  sound  that  we  cannot 
immediately  apprehend.  While  absorbed  in  our  revery, 
the  night-jar,  as  he  flies  invisibly  over  our  head,  occa- 
sionally twangs  his  wings  on  a  sudden  descent  through 
the  air,  in  pursuit  of  his  aerial  prey,  making  a  sound  that 
to  the  superstitious,  who  are  unacquainted  with  the  bird, 
is  fearful  and  perplexing.  The  first  time  I  heard  this 
sound,  which  resembles  the  snapping  of  a  viol-string,  was 


A   SUMMER  NIGHT   IN   THE  WOODS.  221 

in  my  school-days,  when  walking  with  three  of  my  com- 
rades at  midnight  on  a  solitary  turnpike  road.  Not  know- 
ing the  cause  of  it,  we  were  affected  with  a  peculiar 
sensation  of  awe,  which  was  not  relieved  until  daylight 
revealed  to  us  the  birds  still  circling  over  our  heads. 

Often,  while  thus  affected  with  a  sensation  of  mystery, 
and  in  an  interval  of  stillness  that  is  almost  sublime,  all 
serious  emotions  will  be  put  to  flight  by  a  sudden  chorus 
of  bull-frogs  from  a  neighboring  pool.  These  sounds,  in 
themselves  inharmonious,  are  so  intimately  allied  with 
the  sweetness  and  quiet  of  a  summer  night  in  the  woods 
that  they  seldom  fail  to  excite  pleasure.  In  the  course 
of  our  midnight  saunterings,  when  we  are  near  any  col- 
lection of  water,  the  shriek  of  the  common  green  frog  is 
heard  frequently;  and  the  trilling  voice  of  the  toad,  so 
continual  by  day,  occasionally  breaks  the  silence  of  night. 
The  common  tree-frog,  the  prophet  of  summer  showers, 
seldom  heard  by  day  except  in  damp  weather,  keeps 
up  a  constant  garrulity  during  all  still  nights  in  the  month 
of  June. 

There  is  no  perfect  stillness  on  a  summer  night.  There 
are  gentle  flutterings  of  winds  that  nestle  in  the  foliage, 
mysterious  whisperings  of  zephyrs,  and  humming  of  noc- 
turnal insects  that  hover  around  us  bike  spirits,  and  seem 
to  interrogate  us  about  the  cause  of  our  presence  at  this 
unseasonable  hour.  "We  catch  the  floatings  of  distant 
sounds,  mellowed  into  harmony  by  the  intervening  space, 
and  hardly  to  be  distinguished  from  the  noise  made  by  a 
dropping  leaf  as  it  comes  rustling  down  through  the  small 
branches.  .The  stirring  of  a  little  bird,  as  he  preens  his 
feathers  upon  a  branch  of  a  tree,  uttering  an  occasional 
chirp ;  a  little  quadruped  leaping  suddenly  through  the 
underwood  and  secreting  itself  hastily  among  the  herbage, 
—  are  trifles  that  add  cheerfulness  to  the  solemn  quietude 
of  night. 


222  A   SUMMER   NIGHT   IN    THE   WOODS. 

I  am  supposing  the  night  to  be  perfectly  calm ;  but 
how  calm  soever  it  may  be,  now  and  then  a  breeze  will 
pass  fitfully  overhead,  and  the  trees  will  shake  their  flut- 
tering leaves  in  the  wind.  An  unbroken  stillness  may 
immediately  follow,  save  at  intervals  a  whisper  is  heard 
from  some  unseen  object,  as  if  something  that  has  life 
were  watching  your  motions,  or  you  had  obtained  a  faint 
perception  of  sounds  from  the  invisible  world. 

Among  the  affecting  circumstances  attending  a  night 
in  the  woods,  I  must  not  omit  to  mention  the  sound  of 
bells  that  proclaim  the  flight  of  time.  Their  sounds  add 
solemnity  to  the  hour,  while  they  afford  a  pleasant  assur- 
ance of  the  nearness  of  human  dwellings.  But  the  single 
stroke  that  tells  the  hour  of  midnight,  repeated  at  short 
intervals  from  different  villages,  is  peculiarly  solemn  and 
impressive.  "We  then  feel  that  we  are  under  the  very 
meridian  of  night,  and  that  darkness  is  our  only  protec- 
tion. The  effect  of  this  single  toll  upon  the  mind  at 
such  a  time  cannot  be  described. 

I  have  spoken  only  of  sounds,  but  they  are  at  midnight 
hardly  more  impressive  than  sights  which  affect  us  the 
more  on  account  of  their  indistinctness.  The  swarms  of 
fireflies  whirling  and  darting  about  in  the  lowlands  are 
almost  the  only  creatures  that  can  be  seen,  save  now  and 
then  some  night-bird,  as  it  passes  like  a  dark  spot  over 
the  half-luminous  sky.  But  these  little  sparks  of  insect 
life  do  not  aggravate  the  impressions  made  by  darkness. 
There  is  nothing  about  them  that  excites  the  imagination 
or  exalts  the  feelings.  One  can  easily  imagine  the  terror 
with  which  the  glaring  eyes  of  the  jaguar  must  be  be- 
held by  the  midnight  sojourner  in  the  South  American 
forest.  The  eyes  of  the  owl,  as  seen  through  the  trees, 
might  produce  similar  impressions ;  but  in  our  quiet  woods 
imagination  is  the  source  of  all  the  terrors  that  might 
arise  from  common  objects. 


A   SUMMER  NIGHT   IN   THE   WOODS.  223 

The  night  would  afford  no  mean  employment  to  the 
naturalist,  if  he  could  observe  the  midnight  operations  of 
the  still  wakeful  part  of  animated  nature.  There  are 
many  nocturnal  insects  which,  though  not  easily  discov- 
ered in  the  darkness,  are  then  in  motion,  hovering  among 
the  foliage,  or  seeking  the  open  blossom-cup  of  some 
ilower  of  the  night.  At  this  time  only  can  the  active 
habits  of  these  creatures  be  observed,  when  even  the  deep 
shadows  do  not  protect  them  from  the  bat,  the  owl,  and 
the  goat-sucker,  who  nightly  destroy  thousands  of  these 
beautiful  insects,  leaving  their  torn  wings  and  elegant 
plumage  in  the  green  forest  paths,  or  lodged  upon  a  leafy 
branch,  marking  the  place  of  their  destruction. 

As  real  objects  are  but  faintly  seen,  by  the  same  cause 
the  phantoms  of  darkness  are  made  visible.  There  are 
many  things  in  the  obscurity  that  assume  dubious  and 
formless  appearances,  and  excite  the  curiosity,  blended 
with  some  apprehension.  The  branches  are  pictured 
like  the  forms  of  birds  and  quadrupeds  on  the  sky,  and 
every  passing  breeze  seems  to  wake  them  into  life  and 
motion.  A  beam  of  light  appears  on  the  plain,  or  a 
shadow  on  the  hill,  reminding  you  of  the  dusky  form  of 
a  ghost  as  it  glides  half  visibly  among  the  indistinct  forms 
of  the  trees.  On  a  dark  night  almost  all  objects  are  am- 
biguous. The  trees  that  stand  near  the  borders  of  streams 
cast  faint  shadows  upon  them,  often  mistaken  for  some 
real  objects  resting  upon  their  starry  surface.  Everything 
that  moves  reminds  you  of  a  spirit ;  and  many  are  the  un- 
intelligible forms  that  stand  around,  nodding  their  heads, 
and,  as  it  were,  beckoning  to  some  kindred  monster.  You 
feel  as  if  they  were  aware  of  your  presence,  and  were  con- 
sulting together  how  they  should  regard  your  intrusion 
into  their  dusky  haunts. 

As  night  draws  near  its  close,  we  begin  to  long  for  the 
morning ;  and  the  crowing  of  cocks  from  some  distant 


224  A   SUMMER   NIGHT   IN   THE   WOODS. 

farm-yard  affords  a  pleasant  relief  to  our  weariness  and  an 
assurance  of  the  nearness  of  dawn.  The  little  hairbird, 
that  utters  his  trilling  note  at  intervals  throughout  the 
night,  is  heard  more  frequently.  At  length  an  occasional 
twitter  from  the  birds  all  around  us  announces  that  morn- 
ing is  visible.  Nature  always  gives  signs  of  an  approaching 
change,  and  morning  dawn  and  evening  twilight  have 
their  respective  harbingers  ;  and  she  usually  accompanies 
them  with  peculiar  sounds  from  the  elements  and  from 
animated  things.  Thus  by  the  croaking  of  the  tree-toad 
at  noonday  she  augurs  an  approaching  shower,  by  the 
chirping  of  the  green  nocturnal  treehopper  she  proclaims 
the  approach  of  autumn ;  but  the  birds  are  Nature's  fa- 
vorite sentinels,  whom  she  employs  to  herald  the  morn. 

If  we  now  take  our  stand  on  an  eminence  where  we 
can  obtain  a  clear  view  of  the  eastern  horizon,  a  luminous 
appearance  may  be  observed,  forming  a  semicircle  of  dim 
whitish  light  around  the  brows  of  Morning.  If  a  thin 
veil  of  clouds  overspread  the  arch,  the  tints  will  be  dark 
in  proportion  to  their  distance  from  the  hidden  source  of 
light.  Imagine  it  divided  into  circles.  The  inner  one 
will  be  of  a  light  yellow,  the  next  a  tint  of  gold ;  beyond 
that  is  orange,  and  as  it  extends  outward  it  passes  through 
a  gradation  of  vermilion,  crimson,  purple,  and  violet,  until 
it  melts  into  the  azure  of  the  firmament. 


i-ij  :.•!«•• frosts  of  winter 
!ieir  recent  branches.     This  disaste 
for  ten  or  iifteen  years,    • 


THE  WESTERN  PLANE. 

WHEN  journeying  through  the  older  towns  of  New 
England,  the  melancholy  forms  of  the  ill-fated  Planes 
attract  our  attention  by  their  superior  size,  and  still  more 
by  the  marks  of  decay  which  are  stamped  upon  all. 
This  appearance  is  most  remarkable  in  the  early  part  of 
summer;  for  the  trees  are  not  dead,  but  some  hidden 
malady  caused  the  first  crop  of  foliage  to  perish  for  sev- 
eral successive  years.  The  trees,  after  putting  forth  a  new 
crop  of  leaves  from  a  second  growth  of  buds,  had  not 
time  to  ripen  their  wood  before  the  frosts  of  winter  came 
and  destroyed  their  recent  branches.  This  disaster  was 
repeated  annually  for  ten  or  fifteen  years,  causing  an  ac- 
cumulation of  twigs  at  the  extremities  of  the  branches, 
making  a  broom-like  appendage,  and  greatly  deforming 
the  spray  of  the  tree. 

The  Western  Plane,  or  Buttonwood,  is  a  well-known 
tree  by  the  waysides  in  New  England  and  in  the  forests 
of  the  Middle  and  Western  States.  It  belongs  to  a  genus 
of  which  there  are  only  three  known  species,  and  this 
genus  constitutes  a.  whole  natural  family.  It  may,  there- 
fore, be  something  more  than  a  fanciful  hypothesis,  that 
all  its  noble  kindred  have  perished  and  disappeared  from 
the  face  of  the  earth,  with  other  plants  of  a  distant  geologi- 
cal era,  and  that  the  three  remaining  species  are  destined 
to  share  the  same  fate,  as  signalized  by  the  mysterious 
fatality  which  has  attended  both  the  Western  and  Ori- 
ental Plane.  The  Buttonwood  is  remarkable  for  its  great 
height  and  magnitude,  its  large  palmate  leaves,  and  its 


226  THE  WESTERN  PLANE. 

globular  fruit.  The  foliage  is  rather  sparse,  of  a  light, 
rusty  green,  and  resembles  in  many  points  that  of  the 
common  grapevine.  Near  the  insertion  of  every  leaf, 
and  a  little  above  it,  is  a  stipule  forming  a  plaited  ruff 
that  encircles  the  growing  branch.  These  ruff-like  appen- 
dages are  among  its  generic  marks  of  distinction. 

"  The  Buttonwood,"  says  Michaux,  "  astonishes  the  eye 
by  the  size  of  its  trunk  and  the  amplitude  of  its  head. 
But  the  white  elm  has  a  more  majestic  appearance,  which 
is  owing  to  its  great  elevation,  to  the  disposition  of  its 
principal  limbs,  and  the  extreme  elegance  of  its  sum- 
mit." He  considers  the  Buttonwood  "the  largest  and 
loftiest  tree  of  the  United  States."  He  mentions  one 
growing  on  a  small  island  in  the  Ohio  Eiver,  which  at  five 
feet  from  the  ground  measured  forty  feet  and  four  inches 
in  circumference;  and  he  found  another  on  the  right  bank 
of  the  Ohio  that  measured,  at  four  feet  from  the  ground, 
forty-seven  feet  in  circumference,  or  nearly  sixteen  feet  in 
diameter,  and  showed  no  marks  of  decay.  He  states  that 
the  Buttonwood  is  confined  "  to  moist,  wet  grounds,  where 
the  soil  is  loose,  deep,  and  fertile,  and  it  is  never  found 
upon  dry  lands  of  irregular  surface." 

It  was  probably  the  rapid  growth  and  great  size  of  the 
Buttonwood  that  caused  our  ancestors  to  plant  it  so  ex- 
tensively as  a  shade-tree.  It  rises  also  to  a  great  height 
before  it  sends  out  any  branches,  thereby  affording  the 
inmates  of  houses  the  advantage  of  its  shade,  without 
"intercepting  their  prospect,  and  without  interfering  with 
passing  objects  when  planted  by  roadsides.  But  these 
noble  trees,  so  conspicuous  and  so  thrifty  thirty  years 
ago,  have  been  slowly  perishing  from  some  mysterious 
cause  which  no  theory  can  satisfactorily  explain.  It  is 
generally  supposed  to  be  connected  with  a  want  of  hardi- 
hood in  the  constitution  of  the  tree,  that  renders  it  unable 
to  endure  all  the  vicissitudes  of  a  Northern  climate. 


BEAUTY  IN   NATUKE.  229 

gratifies  their  sense  of  wealth  and  pride.  There  is  a  cer- 
tain charm  in  the  ornate  finish  of  dressed  grounds  that 
affects  all  persons  with  pleasure  when  it  is  viewed  in  the 
town  or  in  its  suburbs ;  but  it  clashes  with  the  simplicity 
of  a  genuine  country  scene. 

Much  of  the  beauty  we  perceive  in  nature  delights  the 
eye  by  promising  gratification  to  some  other  sense,  espe- 
cially if  it  is  blended  with  pleasing  forms  and  colors. 
The  sight  of  a  golden  apple,  or  peach  with  cheeks  of 
crimson  and  purple,  would  delight  the  eye,  even  if  we  did 
not  associate  these  fruits  with  their  gratefulness  to  the 
palate.  But  their  fitness  to  afford  this  pleasant  gratifica- 
tion heightens  their  beauty ;  so  that  it  would  be  difficult 
to  determine,  when  we  look  upon  a  peach-tree  laden  with 
its  highly  colored  fruit,  whether  the  sight  or  some  other 
sense  is  the  most  agreeably  affected.  When  passing 
through  shrubbery,  our  eyes  are  attracted  by  the  scarlet 
berries  of  the  woody  nightshade,  and  the  purple  clusters 
hanging  from  the  grapevine.  Our  acquaintance  with  the 
nauseous  qualities  of  the  one  and  the  sweetness  of  the 
other  causes  us  to  look  upon  the  grapes  with  a  keener  sensa- 
tion of  their  beauty,  though  the  berries  of  the  nightshade 
surpass  them  in  elegance  of  form  and  brilliancy  of  color. 

Nature  has  distributed  over  her  productions  a  certain 
amount  of  material  beauty,  as  a  seasoning  to  our  moral 
enjoyments.  She  has  thus  instituted  a  bond  between  our 
physical  sensations  and  our  moral  sentiments.  Those 
objects  which  are  beautiful  to  the  eye,  without  the  agency 
of  thought,  may  be  said  to  shine,  like  the  sun,  with  un- 
borrowed  light.  But  other  classes  of  objects,  that  possess 
the  power  of  awakening  pleasant  emotions  by  suggestion, 
may  be  said  ,to  borrow  their  light,  not  like  the  moon  from 
a  single  object,  but  from  an  infinite  number  of  ideas  and 
images  which  are  reflected  back  upon  the  mind.  Nature 
has  painted  the  cheeks  of  an  innocent  child  with  the  hues 


230  BEAUTY  IN   NATURE. 

of  the  rose  and  the  lily,  that  we  may  contemplate  with 
the  more  pleasure  its  expressions  of  innocence  and  affec- 
tion, and  feel  the  more  sympathy  towards  it.  "We  follow 
the  example  of  nature  when  we  decorate  the  objects  we 
love.  Hence  the  poet,  when  describing  a  lovely  heroine, 
paints  her  with  the  qualities  of  beauty,  that  the  reader's 
interest  may  be  more  devoutly  fixed  upon  her. 

But  the  beauty  of  the  human  form  and  face  is  quite 
inexplicable ;  all  our  ideas  of  love,  of  delicacy,  modesty, 
innocence,  wit,  vivacity,  of  everything  it  is  pleasant  to 
think  of  in  connection  with  the  loveliness  of  the  sex,  are 
awakened  by  the  sight  of  a  beautiful  female  face.  It  is 
impossible  to  say  how  much  of  this  beauty  consists  in  its 
power  to  excite  agreeable  physical  sensations,  and  how 
much  in  its  power  to  awaken  romantic  sentiments  or 
affections  by  its  expression  of  certain  amiable  traits  of 
character.  Yet  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  mere  beauty 
of  color  and  outline  in  the  features  of  the  most  beautiful 
face  is  but  a  small  part  of  its  charms.  - 

A  sense  of  utility  and  convenience  is  admitted  by  all 
writers  to  increase  our  estimation  of  a  beautiful  object. 
But  this  abstract  consideration  of  utility  produces  only  a 
very  feeble  emotion.  A  man  seldom  falls  in  love  with 
a  plain  woman  by  hearing  of  her  superior  virtues  as  a 
housekeeper ;  but  he  might  love  her,  if  she  was  proved  to 
possess  qualities  that  would  immediately  gratify  his  am- 
bition. So  far  as  utility  is  concerned,  the  emotion  of 
beauty  is  excited  rather  by  the  evident  fitness  of  an 
object  for  conferring  some  passionate  gratification,  than 
by  its  fitness  merely  for  serving  our  convenience.  The 
sense  of  utility,  however,  enters  considerably  into  our 
ideas  of  the  beauty  of  landscape ;  and  it  cannot  be  denied 
that  when  we  see  an  artificial  decoration  upon  any  grounds, 
the  knowledge  of  its  usefulness  for  a  valuable  purpose 
increases  our  feeling  of  its  beauty. 


BEAUTY  IN  NATURE.  231 

Our  moral  sentiments  often  magnify  the  sensation  of 
beauty.  The  pleasure  we  derive  from  beautiful  objects 
like  the  rainbow  is  entirely  independent  of  education, 
fashion,  or  caprice ;  yet  this  pleasure  may  be  exalted  by 
certain  ideas  acting  upon  the  mind  or  the  affections.  A 
religious  person,  who  regards  the  rainbow  as  the  sacred 
symbol  of  a  covenant  between  heaven  and  earth,  must 
view  it  with  raptures  unfelt  by  one  who  has  no  such 
faith. 


THE  MYETLE. 

AMONG  the  Greeks  and  Eomans,  the  oak  was  dedicated 
to  Jupiter,  the  olive  to  Minerva,  and  the  Myrtle,  from  the 
delicacy  and  beauty  of  its  foliage,  to  Venus  ;  and  the  tem- 
ple of  this  goddess  was  surrounded  by  Myrtle  groves. 
Hence  the  Myrtle  and  the  rose  have  always  been  twined 
with  garlands  and  prizes  for  beauty,  —  the  one  being  ad- 
mired for  its  flowers,  the  other  for  its  delicate  and  aro- 
matic leaves.  A  great  deal  of  the  romance  of  botany  is 
lost  to  us,  the  inhabitants  of  the  New  "World,  on  account 
of  the  absence  from  our  woods  of  many  of  the  plants  most 
celebrated  in  classic  poetry  and  medieval  romance.  We 
have  not  the  heath,  nor  the  olive,  nor  the  ivy ;  and  many 
of  the  humble  flowers  of  the  meadow,  familiar  to  the 
reader  of  classical  lore,  are  absent  from  our  soil  Their 
absence,  notwithstanding  the  beauty  and  elegance  of  many 
flowers  and  shrubs  that  seem  to  stand  in  the  place  of 
them,  can  never  cease  to  be  felt.  The  sacredness  which  a 
plant  acquires  by  its  association  with  ancient  poetry  and 
romance  and  with  Holy  Writ  cannot  be  transferred  to 
one  of  our  indigenous  plants  of  equal  beauty.  But  there 
is  romance  in  our  own  lives,  and  there  are  plants  never 
mentioned  in  the  literature  of  the  romantic  ages  which 
are  associated  with  certain  hallowed  periods  and  events 
in  our  youth  that  render  them  ever  sacred  to  memory. 

There  are  two  or  three  plants  in  our  own  land  that 
bear  the  classical  name  of  Myrtle,  not  from  any  botanical 
resemblance  or  affinity  to  this  plant,  either  in  leaf  or  in 
flower,  but  from  the  aromatic  odor  of  the  leaves,  like  that 


THE  MYETLE.  233 

of  the  true  Myrtle.    These  plants  are  the  Sweet-Gale,  the 
bayberry,  and  the  sweet-fern. 

THE  DUTCH  MYRTLE,   OR  SWEET-GALE. 

ALONG  the  low  banks  of  rivers,  and  on  the  wooded 
shores  of  ponds  and  lakes  that  do  not  rise  above  the 
water-level,  grows  a  slender  and  rather  elegant  bush,  with 
dark  and  dull  green  foliage,  possessing  a  very  agreeable 
odor,  which  is  perceived  when  the  leaf  is  crushed.  The 
Sweet-Gale  is  indigenous  both  in  Europe  and  America. 
It  is  found  only  in  wet  places,  where  it  forms  knolls  and 
copses,  excluding  all  other  plants  by  the  density  and 
vigor  of  its  growth.  This  exclusive  habit  is  owing  to  the 
multitude  and  tenacity  of  its  roots,  that  form  a  subterra- 
nean network  almost  impenetrable.  The  Sweet-Gale  is 
about  half  aquatic ;  it  grows  out  of  the  water  like  the 
button-bush,  and  is,  I  believe,  never  found  except  in  lands 
which  are  annually  inundated. 

It  is  this  shrub  that  regales  the  sight  with  fresh  ver- 
dure, rising  out  of  the  bosom  of  shallow  waters  in  com- 
pact masses  and  forming  little  islets  of  shrubbery,  with- 
out the  mixture  of  any  other  plant.  Through  these' 
wooded  islets,  on  angling  excursions,  we  propel  our  boat, 
while  the  surface  of  the  lake  is  spangled  with  water-lilies, 
which,  intermingled  with  the  long  blue  spikes  of  pickerel- 
weed  and  other  aquatic  flowers,  while  the  notes  of  the 
veery  and  the  red  mavis  are  heard  from  the  shore,  afford 
the  scene  a  kind  of  tropical  splendor. 

THE   BAYBERRY. 

THIS  species  has  an  odor  very  similar  to  that  of  the 
sweet-gale,  and  from  its  fragrance  and  its  waxy  fruit  it 
has  obtained  the  name  of  the  Candleberry  Myrtle.  It 


234  THE   MYETLE. 

delights  in  dry  pastures  upon  the  hills  and  uplands,  to 
which  it  is  a  humble,  but  not  insignificant  ornament. 
This  plant  can  make  no  very  evident  pretensions  to 
beauty,  having  rough  and  crooked  branches,  and  im- 
perfect flowers  and  fruit,  without  .any  elegance  of  form. 
But  its  foliage  is  so  regular,  so  dense,  and  of  so  bright 
a  verdure,  that  it  never  fails  to  attract  attention.  Indeed, 
it  displays  some  of  the  finest  masses  of  pure  green  leafage 
to  be  seen  among  our  upland  shrubbery.  But  seldom 
does  any  tint  except  the  green  of  summer  appear  in  the 
Bayberry.  It  takes  no  part  in  the  grand  pageant  of  au- 
tumn. The  fruit  of  this  plant  is  a  subject  of  great  curi- 
osity. It  consists  of  little  greenish-gray  berries,  stemless, 
and  completely  covering  the  branches  like  warts,  thickly 
coated  with  a  waxy  substance,  which  is  soluble  in  boiling 
water.  This  substance,  when  collected,  makes  a  very 
hard  wax  of  a  greenish  color. 

THE   SWEET-FERN. 

ANOTHER  of  those  humble  shrubs  which,  though  wanting 
in  the  beauty  afforded  by  flowers,  is  very  generally  sought 
and  admired,  is  the  Sweet-Fern,  at  the  very  name  of  which 
we  are  inspired  with  pleasant  remembrances  of  spring.  The 
Sweet-Fern  is  a  common  plant  on  all  our  hills,  the  close 
companion  of  the  bayberry,  the  wild-rose,  and  the  small 
kalmia.  It  is  bound  into  all  the  nosegays  gathered  in 
May,  and  is  a  part  of  the  garlands  with  which  young  girls 
crown  the  head  of  their  May-queen,  before  the  eglantine 
has  put  forth  its  leaves,  and  when  the  only  flowers  of 
the  meadow  are  a  few  violets  and  anemones.  This  little 
shrub  occupies  a  wide  extent  of  territory,  mingling  its  in- 
cense with  almost  every  breeze  that  is  scented  by  the  rose. 
It  is  abundant  in  all  the  Northeastern  States  and  the 
British  Provinces. 


THE  MYRTLE.  235 

The  Sweet-Fern  is  a  peculiar  shrub,  branching  in  such 
a  manner  as  to  form  a  perfect  miniature  tree,  beautifully 
ramified  with  a  neatly  rounded  head.  The  leaves  are 
agreeably  aromatic,  and  shaped  unlike  those  of  any  other 
phenogamous  plant,  resembling  a  true  fern-leaf,  having 
alternate  indentations  that  extend  not  quite  to  the  midrib. 
It  is  a  very  grateful,  not  to  say  beautiful,  ornament  of  our 
dry  hills  and  pastures,  and  is  more  admired  than  any 
other  equally  homely  shrub  in  our  woods. 


EELATION  OF  TEEES  TO  THE   SOIL. 


I  HAVE  spoken  of  trees  as  the  purifiers  aiid  renovators 
of  the  atmosphere,  as  regulators  of  its  humidity,  equalizers 
of  the  electric  fluid,  and  as  safeguards  against  both  drought 
and  inundations ;  but  I  have  not  yet  alluded  to  the  fact  that 
they  are,  in  dense  assemblages,  the  actual  creators,  in  many 
places,  of  the  soil  upon  which  they  stand.  The  trees  by 
means  of  their  foliage  are  direct  fertilizers  of  the  ground 
they  cover,  causing  it  to  increase  in  bulk  as  long  as  they 
stand  upon  it.  But  the  leaves  of  trees  are  not  the  only 
source  of  this  increase  of  bulk  and  fertility.  The  lichens 
and  mosses,  and  various  incrustations  upon  their  bark,  and 
the  offal  of  birds,  insects,  and  quadrupeds,  all  contribute  to 
the  same  end.  Hence  the  most  barren  situations  will  pro- 
duce good  crops  for  several  years  after  the  removal  of 
their  wood;  and  from  these  facts  we  may  learn  why  a 
forest  is  still  vigorous,  though  it  has  remained  for  centuries 
upon  the  same  ground.  If  it  were  fertilized  only  by  the 
decayed  foliage  of  the  trees,  it  would  gradually  lose  its 
fitness  to  promote  the  health  and  growth  of  the  timber. 
But  the  foreign  matters  I  have  enumerated,  the  decayed 
cryptogamous  plants,  and  the  relics  and  deposits  of  ani- 
mals which  have  lived  and  died  there,  supply  the  soil 
with  nitrogenous  ingredients  in  which  decomposed  leaves 
are  wanting. 

But  what  are  the  sources  of  all  the  matters  which  are 
furnished  by  the  trees  alone  ?  They  are  chiefly  the  atmos- 
phere and  the  deeper  strata  of  the  soil.  The  roots  of  the 
trees,  penetrating  to  a  considerable  depth,  draw  up  from 


RELATION  OF  TREES  TO  THE  SOIL.        237 

the  subsoil  certain  nutritive  salts  that  enter  into  the  sub- 
stance of  all  parts  of  the  tree.  This  is  restored  to  the  sur- 
face by  every  tree  or  branch  that  falls  and  moulders  upon 
it,  and  the  leaves  increase  its  bulk  still  more  by  their 
annual  decay.  According  to  Vaupell,  "  the  carbonic  acid 
given  out  by  decaying  leaves,  when  taken  up  by  water, 
serves  to  dissolve  the  mineral  constituents  of  the  soil,  and 
it  is  particularly  active  in  disintegrating  feldspar  and  the 
clay  derived  from  its  decomposition."  These  facts  ex- 
plain why  the  surface  soil  in  a  forest  may  constantly 
increase  in  bulk,  without  communication  with  any  for- 
eign sources  of  supply. 

If  a  wood  be  situated  in  a  valley  or  on  a  level  plain,  it 
retains  all  these  substances  for  its  own  benefit.  But' if  it 
stand  upon  a  declivity,  a  part  of  the  debris  will  be  washed 
down  by  floods  into  the  fields  below.  Hence,  by  pre- 
serving a  growth  of  wood  upon  all  barren  slopes  and 
elevations,  the  farmer  derives  benefit  from  it,  both  as  a 
fertilizer  and  as  a  source  of  irrigation  to  the  lower  part 
of  the  slopes  or  the  base  of  the  hill.  For  some  days  after 
a  rain,  thousands  of  little  rills  are  constantly  oozing  from 
the  spongy  bed  of  the  wood,  that  cannot  immediately  be- 
come dry  like  an  open  surface.  Hills,  when  either  very 
barren  or  steep,  are  unprofitable  alike  for  tillage  or  pas- 
ture. They  require  more  manure  than  other  grounds,  and 
more  labor  in  its  distribution.  Hence,  if  divested  of  wood, 
as  I  have  often  repeated,  they  are  almost  useless ;  while, 
if  densely  wooded,  they  fertilize  and  irrigate  the  lands  be- 
low, protect  them  from  winds,  and  afford  a  certain  annual 
amount  of  fuel. 

When  I  am  journeying  through  the  country  and  behold 
the  rocky  hills,  sometimes  for  miles  in  extent,  entirely 
bare  of  trees,  and  affording  too  little  sustenance  to  sup- 
port even  a  crop  of  whortleberry-bushes,  where  an  acre 
would  hardly  pasture  a  single  sheep,  I  am  informed  by 


238  KELATION   OF  TEEES  TO   THE  SOIL. 

the  older  inhabitants  that  these  barren  fields  were  since 
their  childhood  covered  with  forest.  This  wood  cannot 
be  restored,  because  the  soil  has  been  washed  down  from 
the  surface  into  the  plains  below,  and  nothing  remains  to 
support  a  new  growth  of  trees.  And  then  I  think,  if  our 
predecessors,  instead  of  wrangling  about  theology,  had  left 
its  mysteries  to  be  explained  by  their  pastors,  and  studied 
some  of  the  plain  laws  of  meteorology,  this  devastation 
had  not  taken  place ! 

If  these  rising  grounds,  like  most  of  the  hills  in  New 
England,  have  a  granite  foundation  and  a  comparatively 
barren  surface  soil,  forests  are  the  only  means  which  can 
be  used  by  nature  to  render  them  productive  or  useful  in 
any  way  to  the  prosperity  of  agriculture.  Were  they 
stripped  of  trees,  they  could  not  long  maintain  their 
original  fertility ;  for  there  is  nothing  to  prevent  the  soil 
from  washing  down  their  sides,  nothing  to  prevent  inun- 
dations from  copious  rains,  nothing  to  prevent  their  be- 
coming rapidly  parched  by  drought  during  a  great  part 
of  every  summer.  Hence  a  mountain  that  is  covered 
with  a  dense  forest,  how  thin  and  meagre  soever  the  soil 
may  be  from  'which  the  trees  derive  their  support,  is  a 
source  of  perpetual  fertilization  to  the  lands  below. 
Millions  of  living  creatures,  which  are  harbored  in  these 
woods,  annually  perish,  leaving  their  remains  upon  the 
ground  to  fertilize  it  and  increase  its  bulk.  During  their 
lifetime  also,  besides  various  substances  which  they  have 
manipulated,  they  are  constantly  leaving  deposits  of  many 
kinds  upon  the  surface ;  and  if  the  quantity  thus  spread 
upon  a  single  acre  of  woodland  could  be  measured,  we 
should  be  astonished  at  the  amount. 

By  means  of  forests,  therefore,  in  favorable  situations, 
a  farmer  obtains  something  apparently  out  of  nothing, 
and  makes  the  barren  rocks  and  hills  the  sources  of  a 
part  of  the  substances  with  which  he  fertilizes  his  grounds. 


EELATION  OF  TREES  TO  THE  SOIL.        239 

But  I  have  said  nothing  of  the  pasturage  afforded  to  cattle 
on  the  borders  of  woods.  Out  of  every  two  or  three 
tons  of  leaves  which  are  cast  upon  the  ground,  a  hundred- 
weight at  least  is  but  a  solidification  of  the  gases  of  the 
atmosphere.  All  this  would  be  lost  to  the  farmer,  if  the 
upper  parts  of  his  barren  elevations  and  the  sides  of  his 
steep  declivities  were  despoiled  of  their  wood  and  shrub- 
bery. Without  this  forest,  tons  of  compost  produced  by 
the  annual  decay  of  leaves  would  never  have  been  cre- 
ated. All  that  proceeds  from  living  creatures  would  also 
be  lost,  because  they  would  either  have  never  come  into 
existence,  or  they  would  have  lived  and  died  in  another 
place  and  benefited  some  other  region. 


THE  VIBURNUM. 

OVER  all  the  land,  save  where  excessive  cultivation  and 
dressing  of  the  grounds  have  stripped  the  earth  of  its 
native  garniture,  the  roadsides  are  adorned  with  the  dif- 
ferent species  of  Viburnum.  "We  detect  them  in  winter 
by  their  many-colored  branches  and  their  finely  divided 
spray.  May  clothes  them  with  a  profusion  of  delicate 
and  sweet-scented  flowers ;  lastly,  autumn  dyes  their  foli- 
age purple  and  crimson,  and  hangs  from  their  branches 
clusters  of  variegated  fruit ;  so  that  as  native  ornaments 
of  the  borders  of  old  fields  and  roads  they  are  surpassed 
by  no  other  shrubs.  The  Viburnum  constitutes  a  great 
part  of  the  underwood  of  our  forests,  thriving  and  bear- 
ing fruit  under  the  deep  shade  of  trees,  but  assuming  a 
handsome  shape  only  outside  of  the  wood.  The  flowers, 
in  circular  clusters,  or  cymes,  resemble  those  of  the  elder, 
but  have  less  fragrance. 

THE  AMERICAN  WAYFARIXG-TREE. 

The  largest  and  most  conspicuous  of  this  genus,  and 
the  one  that  seems  to  me  to  bear  the  most  resemblance 
to  the  English  Wayfaring-tree,  is  the  Sweet  Viburnum. 
It  is  a  tall  and  wide-spreading  shrub,  with  numerous 
branches  and  dense  and  elegant  foliage,  making  a  compact 
and  well-rounded  head.  The  leaves  are  single  and  op- 
posite, finely  serrate,  and  with  prominent  veins.  Many 
of  our  shrubs  produce  more  showy  flowers,  but  few 
surpass  it  in  the  beauty  of  its  fruit.  The  berries  are  of 


THE  VIBUKNUM.  241 

the  size  of  damsons,  hanging  profusely  from  the  branches 
like  clusters  of  grapes.  They  are  dark  purple  when  ripe, 
with  a  lustre  that  is  not  seen  in  the  grape.  Just  before 
they  ripen  they  are  crimson,  and  berries  of  this  color  are 
often  blended  with  the  ripened  fruit.  Like  the  English 
Wayfaring-tree,  the  office  of  this  shrub  seems  to  be  to 
overshadow  the  unfrequented  byways,  and  afford  coolness 
and  refreshment  to  the  traveller. 

THE  GUELDER  ROSE. 

This  species  is  common  to  both  continents.  In  Eu- 
rope it  is  cultivated  under  the  name  of  Guelder  Eose.- 
In  America  it  is  known  as  the  Snowball-tree  of  our 
gardens,  and  it  seems  to  be  identical  with  the  Maple- 
leaved  Viburnum  of  our  woods.  In  the  garden  variety 
the  clusters  are  nearly  globular,  consisting  entirely 
of  barren  flowers,  and  differing  from  those  of  the  wild 
plant  in  the  enlargement  of  the  florets.  In  the  wild  tree 
some  barren  florets  with  enlarged  petals  may  be  seen  min- 
gled with  others  in  the  cyme,  chiefly  encircling  the  disk. 
The  fruit  of  this  species  is  of  a' bright  scarlet,  and  bears  a 
superficial  resemblance  to  cranberries,  having  also  a  simi- 
lar acid  taste,  but  a  different  internal  structure. 

THE  HOBBLE-BUSH. 

Why  so  elegant  a  plant  as  this  species  should  bear  the 
disagreeable  name  of  Hobble-Bush  is  apparent  only  when 
we  become  entangled  by  walking  over  a  bed  of  it.  I  have 
seen  it  frequently  in  Maine,  where  it  is  called  Moosewood, 
but  seldom  in  Massachusetts.  It  is  never  entirely  erect ; 
its  principal  branches  spread  upon  the  ground,  while  the 
smaller  ones  that  bear  the  leaves  and  fruit  are  erect.  The 
leaves  are  very  large,  some  lobed  and  others  heart-shaped 


242  THE  VIBURNUM. 

or  nearly  ovaL  Notwithstanding  its  procumbent  growth, 
it  is  not  a  homely  shrub.  The  numerous  small  and  erect 
branches  that  spring  from  the  creeping  boughs  resemble  a 
bed  of  dense  low  shrubbery.  And  when  we  see  it  in  an 
old,  dark-shaded  wood,  crimsoned  by  the  tinting  of  autumn, 
and  full  of  bright  scarlet  fruit,  we  cannot  but  admire  it. 

THE  ARROW-WOOD. 

Among  the  several  species  which  I  shall  not  attempt 
to  describe,  one  of  the  most  common  and  familiar  is 
the  Arrow-Wood,  so  called  from  the  general  employ- 
ment of  its  long,  straight,  and  slender  branches  by 
the  Indians  for  the  manufacture  of  their  arrows.  This 
tree  seldom  rises  above  eight  or  ten  feet  in  height,  and  is 
more  common  in  the  borders  of  fields  which  are  low  and 
wet  than  any  other  species.  Its  fruit  is  of  a  bluish  slate- 
color.  These  peculiar  shrubs  are  often  seen  in  the  damp 
forest,  and  in  the  borders  of  wood-paths,  bearing  con- 
spicuous fruit  and  tempting  us  to  gather  and  eat,  while 
we  refrain  on  account  of  the  suspicions  we  naturally  feel 
when  we  discover  the  fruit  of  a  strange  plant. 


ii  an 

••«-;.   ar  to 

:v*"    days 

led  ^veen, 

is  of  tinted 


AUTUMN  WOODS. 

WHEN  the  golden-rods  in  field  and  border  have  per- 
ceptibly faded,  and  we  are  growing  weary  of  the  monotony 
of  summer  landscape,  autumn,  the  great  limner  of  the 
forest,  spreads  over  the  earth  new  and  enchanting  pic- 
tures. Dim  lights  spring  up  daily  among  the  shadows  of 
the  trees,  and  grove,  copse,  and  thicket  suffer  a  gradual 
metamorphosis.  The  woods  are  illuminated  by  such  an 
array  of  colors  that  their  late  dark  recesses  appear  to 
have  the  brightness  of  sunshine.  Where  a  few  days 
since  there  was  but  a  shady  obscurity  of  faded  green, 
there  gleams  a  luminous  beauty  from  myriads  of  tinted 
leaves.  As  the  twilight  of  the  year  comes  on,  the  trees 
appear  one  after  another  in  their  new  garniture,  like  the 
clouds  of  evening,  as  sunset  deepens  into  darkness. 

There  is  no  scene  in  nature  more  purely  delightful  than 
the  autumn  woods  when  they  have  attained  the  fulness 
of  their  splendor.  The  sentiment  of  melancholy  which 
is  associated  with  the  fall  of  the  leaf  increases  our  sus- 
ceptibility to  be  affected  by  these  parting  glories  of  the 
year.  So  sweetly  blended  are  the  lights  and  colors  in 
this  gorgeous  array,  that  no  sense  is  wearied.  The  very 
imperfection  of  the  hues  gives  a  healthful  zest  to  the 
spectacle,  causing  it  never  to  weary  like  the  more  brilliant 
colors  of  a  flower-bed.  The  hues  of  sunrise  are  more 
ethereal  and  exhilarating ;  but  there  is  a  sober  mellowness 
in  the  tints  of  autumn  that  inspires  the  most  healthful 
temper  of  mind.  Far  and  near,  from  the  wooded  hills 
that  display  a  variegated  spectacle  of  gold,  scarlet,  and 


244  AUTUMN  WOODS. 

purple ;  from  turrets  of  rocks  embroidered  with  ferns  and 
sumach ;  from  old  winding  roads  and  lanes,  hedged  with 
a  countless  variety  of  gleaming  shrubs,  and  rustic  cot- 
tages half  covered  with  scarlet  creeper,  down  to  the  crim- 
son patches  of  whortleberry-bushes,  on  the  plains  and  in 
the  valleys,-^  all  is  serenity  and  beauty. 

I  have  often  observed  that  the  autumn  woods  never 
present  that  picture  of  gloom  which  is  so  manifest  in 
them  on  a  cloudy  day  in  summer.  In  one  respect  the 
foliage  itself  is  luminous,  presenting  warm  colors  that 
reflect  light,  so  that  the  interior  of  a  wood  is  actually 
brightened  by  the  tinting  of  the  leaves.  I  find  but  little 
pleasure  in  an  evergreen  wood  at  this  time,  unless  it 
is  illuminated  by  an  occasional  group  of  deciduous 
trees.  Autumn  is  a  sad  time  of  the  year,  —  the  season 
of  parting  with  all  that  was  delightful  in  summer.  The 
darkness  of  the  atmosphere  is  even  greater  than  in  winter, 
when  the  earth  is  whitened  by  snow.  "We  hail  these 
warm  tints  of  the  woods,  therefore,  as  a  beneficent  offering 
of  nature  for  the  refreshment  of  our  spirits.  All  these 
things  are  beautiful  even  in  cloudy  weather,  but  the  sun 
greatly  enlivens  the  colors  of  the  foliage,  particularly 
when  it  goes  down  in  a  clear  atmosphere,  and  every  ob- 
ject is  garnished  with  its  beams,  and  mingles  with  golden 
reflections  from  hundreds  of  cottage  windows.  We  watch 
their  evanescent  lights  as  they  fade  in  the  valleys  and 
linger  on  the  hill-tops,  until  twilight  veils  the  scene  in 
colorless  shadow. 

Though  every  one  admires  the  beauty  of  autumn  woods, 
not  many  are  aware  how  imperfect  are  the  colors  that 
make  up  this  gorgeous  pageant.  "We  speak  of  the  scarlet 
and  crimson  of  the  maple,  the  oak,  and  the  tupelo,  and  of 
many  shrubs  that  equal  them  in  brilliancy.  But  there  is 
very  little  pure  scarlet,  crimson,  or  purple  among  these 
tints.  If  it  were  otherwise  they  would  afford  us  less 


AUTUMN  WOODS.  247 

red  maple,  and  less  frequently  in  the  rock-maple  when  in 
a  protected  situation,  the  leaves  are  often  formally  varie- 
gated with  figures  of  yellow,  red,  green,  and  purple.  Those 
of  the  poison-sumach,  the  cornel,  and  the  snowy  mespilus, 
are  sometimes  beautifully  striated  with  yellow  or  orange 
upon  a  darker  ground ;  but  I  have  searched  the  woods  in 
vain  to  find  any  other  than  a  maple-leaf  configurated  like 
a  butterfly's  wing. 

In  the  foliage  of  the  tupelo  deep  shades  of  purple  first 
appear,  brightening  into  crimson  or  scarlet  before  it  falls. 
This  tree  more  invariably  shows  a  mass  of  unmixed  crim- 
son than  any  other  species.  Even  in  the  maple,  if  the  gen- 
eral presentation  is  red,  you  will  find  a  considerable  mix- 
ture of  yellow.  The  colors  of  the  scarlet  oak  are  seldom 
pure  or  unmixed ;  but  those  of  the  tupelo  are  invariable, 
except  as  they  pass  through  the  gradations  from  purple  to 
scarlet.  If,  therefore,  the  tupelo  were  as  common  in  the 
woods  as  the  maple,  it  would  contribute  more  splendor  to 
the  scenery  of  autumn.  There  are  many  trees  that  never 
produce  a  red  leaf.  I  have  never  found  one  in  the  foliage 
of  the  poplar,  the  birch,  the  tulip,  the  hickory,  or  the 
chestnut,  which  are  all  of  some  shade  of  yellow ;  but  there 
are  usually  a  few  yellow  leaves  scattered  among  the 
ruddy  foliage  of  any  tree  that  assumes  this  color. 

When  all  the  circumstances  attending  the  season  have 
been  favorable  to  the  tints  of  autumn,  there  is  no  tree  of 
the  forest  that  would  attract  more  admiration  from  the 
beautiful  sobriety  of  its  colors  than  the  American  ash. 
But  this  tree  is  so  easily  affected  by  drought,  that  after  a 
dry  summer  its  leaves  fall  prematurely  and  its  tints  are 
imperfect.  The  colors  of  the  ash  are  quite  unique,  and 
distinguish  it  from  all  other  trees.  Under  favorable  cir- 
cumstances its  coloring  process  is  nearly  uniform.  It 
begins  with  a  general  impurpling  of  the  whole  mass  of 
foliage  nearly  at  the  same  time,  and  its  gradual  changes 


248  AUTUMN  WOODS. 

remind  me  of  those  observed  in  sea-mosses  during  the 
process  of  bleaching.  There  is  an  invariable  succession 
in  these  tints,  as  in  the  brightening  beams  of  morn.  They 
are  first  of  a  dark  bronze,  turning  from  this  to  a  choco- 
late, then  to  a  violet  brown,  and  finally  to  a  salmon-color, 
or  yellow  with  a  slight  shade  of  lilac.  When  the  leaves 
are  faded  nearly  yellow,  they  are  ready  to  drop  from  the 
tree.  It  is  remarkable,  that,  with  all  this  variety  of 
hues,  neither  crimson  nor  any  shade  of  scarlet  is  ever  seen 
in  the  ash.  It  ought  to  be  remembered  that  the  gradations 
of  autumn  tints  in  all  cases  are  in  the  order  of  those  of 
sunrise,  from  dark  to  lighter  hues,  and  never  the  reverse. 
I  make  no  reference  to  the  browns  of  dead  leaves,  which 
are  darker  than  yellow  or  orange,  from  which  they  turn. 
I  speak  only  of  the  changes  of  leaves  before  they  are 
seared  or  dry. 

After  the  middle  of  October,  the  oaks  are  the  most 
conspicuous  ornaments  of  the  forest;  but  they  are  sel- 
dom brilliant.  In  their  foliage  there  is  a  predominance 
of  what  we  call  leather-colors,  with  a  considerable  mix- 
ture of  certain  shades  of  red  that  are  peculiar  to  the 
oak.  We  rarely  find  pure  yellow  or  scarlet  leaves  in  the 
foliage  of  any  species  of  oak.  The  color  of  the  scarlet 
oak  is  nearer  a  purple  or  crimson  than  any  other  shade  of 
red.  The  white  oak  turns,  with  but  little  variation,  to  an 
ashen-purple  or  impure  violet.  The  black  and  red  oaks 
display  varying  and  imperfect  shades  of  drab  and  orange. 
The  oaks  are  remarkable  for  the  persistence  of  their 
foliage,  and  for  the  duration  of  their  tints,  which  are 
chiefly  the  brown  and  russet  of  dead  leaves  with  a  lively 
polish.  Long  after  other  deciduous  trees  have  become 
leafless,  the  various  sombre  shades  of  the  different  oaks 
cast  a  melancholy  tinge  over  the  waning  beauty  of  the 
forest. 

We  are  wont  to  speak  of  trees  as  the  principal  objects 


AUTUMN  WOODS.  249 

of  admiration  in  autumnal  scenery,  but  the  shrubs,  though 
less  conspicuous  on  account  of  their  inferior  size,  are  not 
less  brilliant.  It  is  also  remarkable  that  reds  predominate 
in  the  shrubbery,  and  yellows  in  the  trees.  Reds  and  pur- 
ples distinguish  the  whortleberry,  the  cornel,  the  viburnum, 
and  the  sumach,  including  all  their  species.  There  is 
indeed  so  small  a  proportion  of  yellow  in  the  shrubbery,  that 
it  is  hardly  distinguishable  in  the  general  mass  of  scarlet, 
crimson,  and  purple.  Among  trees,  on  the  contrary,  yel- 
lows prevail  in  all  miscellaneous  woods.  They  distin- 
guish the  poplar,  the  birch,  the  hickory,  the  tulip-tree, 
the  elm,  and  a  good  proportion  of  the  maples.  It  ought 
to  be  remarked,  however,  that  there  are  more  shrubs 
than  trees  that  do  not  change  materially,  but  remain 
green  until  the  fall  of  their  leaves.  The  alder  remains 
green;  and  as  it  covers  a  large  proportion  of  our  wet 
grounds,  it  might  seem  to  an  observer  in  those  situations 
that  the  tints  of  autumn  were  confined  to  the  trees. 

Many  persons  still  believe  frost  to  be  the  great  limner 
of  the  foliage,  as  if  it  were  a  sort  of  dyeing  material.  On 
the  contrary,  the  slightest  frost  will  destroy  the  tints  of 
every  leaf  that  is  touched  by  it.  It  is  not  uncommon  to 
witness  a  general  tarnishing  of  the  autumnal  tints  by 
frost  as  early  as  September.  In  some  years  they  are 
spoiled  by  it  before  they  have  begun  to  be  developed. 
An  autumn  rarely  passes  when  the  colors  of  the  foliage 
are  not  half  ruined  before  the  time  when  they  ought  to 
be  in  their  brightest  condition.  But  the  injury  they  re- 
ceive from  slight  frosts  is  not  apparent  to  careless  ob- 
servation. In  the  meridian  of  their  beauty,  heat  will 
damage  the  tints  as  badly  as  frost.  A  very  hot  and  sunny 
day  occurring  the  first  or  second  week  of  October  makes  al- 
most as  much  havoc  with  the  ash  and  the  maple  as  a  freez- 
ing night,  fading  their  leaves  rapidly  and  loosening  their 
attachment  to  the  branches,  so  that  the  slightest  wind 
11* 


250  AUTUMN  WOODS. 

will  scatter  them  to  the  ground.  Yet  the  action  of  heat 
differs  materially  from  that  of  frost.  Frost  im browns  and 
crisps  or  sears  the  leaves,  while  heat  only  fades  them  to 
lighter  and  more  indefinite  shades.  Frost  is  destructive 
of  their  colors,  heat  is  only  a  bleaching  agent.  Cool 
weather  in  autumn  without  frost  is  necessary  for  the  pres- 
ervation of  its  seasonal  beauty. 

The  most  brilliant  autumnal  hues  appear  after  a  wet 
summer,  followed  by  a  cool  autumn,  unattended  with 
frost.  Cool  weather  preserves  not  only  the  purity  of 
the  colors,  but  also  the  persistence  of  the  foliage.  If  the 
early  frosts  are  delayed,  the  tints  are  brighter  for  this 
delay  while  the  weather  remains  cool.  But  a  wet  sum- 
mer is  so  generally  followed  by  premature  cold,  that  the 
finest  displays  of  autumn  scenery  are  often  suddenly 
ruined  by  a  hard  frost.  Seldom  are  all  the  favorable  cir- 
cumstances for  preserving  the  purity  of  the  tints  com- 
bined in  any  one  season.  Not  more  than  once  in  six  or 
eight  years  are  both  heat  and  frost  kept  away  so  as  to 
permit  the  leaves  to  pass,  unseared  and  untarnished, 
through  all  their  beautiful  gradations  of  color. 

There  are  several  herbaceous  plants  that  display 
tints  similar  to  those  of  the  woods ;  but  they  are  not 
very  conspicuous.  I  must  not  fail  to  mention  the  sam- 
phire, a  plant  of  the  salt  marshes,  possessing  no  beauty 
of  form,  having  neither  leaves  nor  any  very  discernible 
flowers,  which  every  year  contributes  more  beauty  of  color 
to  the  grounds  it  occupies  than  any  flower  of  summer. 
Though  I  have  seen  no  printed  account  of  its  magnificent 
crimson  spread  interruptedly  over  miles  of  salt  marsh, 
my  attention  has  often  been  called  to  it  by  ladies,  who 
are  more  sensitive  than  the  other  sex  to  such  appearances, 
and  more  careful  observers  of  them. 

The  tints  of  the  forest  in  America  are  said  greatly  to 
surpass  those  of  the  European  woods.  Having  never 


AUTUMN  WOODS.  251 

visited  Europe,  I  cannot  speak  of  the  comparison  from 
my  own  observation.  But  from  descriptions  of  them 
by  different  authors  who  have  treated  the  subject,  I 
have  been  led  to  believe  that  the  difference  is  caused 
by  a  larger  admixture  of  scarlet  and  crimson  among 
the  tints  of  our  own  trees.  To  aid  the  reader  in  draw- 
ing a  comparison  between  them,  I  have  made  a  synopsis 
of  the  tints  of  American  woods  during  September  and 
October ;  and  have  copied  a  similar  one,  less  full  and 
particular,  by  George  Barnard,  of  English  woods. 


NOTE. 

There  are  a  few  trees  and  shrubs,  of  which  the  alder  and  buckthorn 
are  examples,  that  so  seldom  show  any  kind  of  a  tint  that  I  have  not 
included  them  in  my  list  ;  and  there  are  several  species  of  oak  that  dis- 
play such  a  motley  combination  of  green  and  rust,  with  faint  shades  of 
purple  and  yellow,  that  it  is  impossible  to  classify  them.  In  my  list  I 
have  only  named  the  genera,  except  when  the  species  are  distinguished 
by  important  differences.  The  brown  hues  of  the  oak  and  the  beech  are 
the  tints  only  of  their  dead  leaves  or  dead  parts  of  leaves ;  but  pure 
browns  are  sometimes  seen  in  the  living  leaf  of  the  snowy  mespilus,  the 
pear-tree,  and  the  smoke-tree  ;  in  others  they  occur  so  seldom  that  they 
may  be  classed  as  accidental  hues.  I  ought  to  add  that  only  a  small 
part  of  what  may  be  said  of  the  tints  of  trees  is  unqualifiedly  correct. 
They  are  greatly  modified  by  circumstances  which  cannot  always  be 
understood.  I  have  seen  maples  that  always  remained  green,  apple-trees 
dressed  in  scarlet  and  yellow,  and  lilacs  in  a  deep  violet ;  but  I  have 
never  seen  a  purple,  crimson,  or  scarlet  leaf  on  any  of  the  trees  of 
Division  I.  of  the  Synopsis. 


252 


AUTUMN'  WOODS. 


SYNOPSIS    OF    THE    TINTS    OF    DIFFERENT    TREES    AND 
SHRUBS  IN  SEPTEMBER  AND  OCTOBER. 

DIVISION  I. 

Trees  and  Shrubs  that  display  Yellow  Tints  alone,  without  ever  a  Purple 

or  Red  Leaf  of  any  Shade. 
Althaea. 
Bayberry. 
Clethra. 
Dutch  Myrtle. 
Elder. 
Locust. 
Privet. 
Willow. 
Black  Walnut. 
Butternut. 
Catalpa. 
Chestnut. 
Elm. 

Grapevine. 
Hickory. 
Horse-Chestnut. 
Lime. 
Plane. 

White  Birch. 
Beech. 
Birch. 

Honey  Locust. 
Mulberry. 
Poplar. 
Tulip-tree. 
Green-Brier. 


SECTION  1.  —  Verdure  of  summer  unchanged,  or 
with  a  slight  and  sometimes  a  considerable  mixture 
of  yellow  leaves,  before  they  fall. 


SECTION  2.  —  A  general  mixture  of  rusty  green 
and  yellow,  sometimes  pure  yellow  under  favorable 
circumstances.  The  rust  attaches  only  to  dead  leaves 
or  to  the  dead  parts  of  leaves. 


SECTION  3.  —  Pure  yellow,  of  different  shades. 


AUTUMN  WOODS. 


253 


SECTION  1.  —  A  predominance  of  green,  with  a 
slight  and  sometimes  a  considerable  mixture  of  pur- 
ple, red,  and  yellow,  of  different  shades.  All  the 
rosaceous  plants  are  included  in  this  section  or  the 
following.  Individuals  of  some  of  these  species  are 
occasionally  brilliant. 


DIVISION  II. 
Trees  and  Shrubs  that  display  all  Shades  of  Purple,  Red,  and  Yellow. 

Apple-tree. 

Barberry. 

Blackberry. 

Cherry. 

Hawthorn. 

Lilac. 

Missouri  Currant. 

Mountain  Ash. 

Pear-tree. 

Peach-tree. 

Plum-tree. 

Quince-tree. 

Raspberry. 

River  Maple. 


Spiraea. 
Blueberry. 
Cornel. 
Hazel. 
Poison-Ivy. 
Scarlet  Oak. 
Smooth  Sumach. 
Strawberry-tree . 
Tupelo. 

Velvet  Sumach. 
Yiburnum. 
Virginia  Creeper. 
"White  Oak. 
Whortleberry. 
Mountain  Maple. 
Red  Maple. 
Rock  Maple. 
Poison-Dogwood. 
Smoke-tree. 
Snowy  Mespilus. 
Striped  Maple. 


SECTION  2.  —  Purple,  crimson,  and  scarlet,  with 
only  a  small  mixture  of  yellow,  if  any. 


The  Ash. 


SECTION  3.  —  Variegated  tints,  comprising  all 
shades  of  purple,  crimson,  scarlet,  orange,  and  yellow 
on  the  same  tree,  or  on  different  trees  of  the  same 
species.  Leaves  often  striated,  and  sometimes  figured 
like  a  butterfly's  wing. 

•N  Passing  through  all  shades  from  a  dark  chocolate 
to  violet,  brown,  and  salmon.  The  ash  is  per- 
i-  fectly  unique  in  its  tints,  having  no  reds,  and  being 
I  the  only  tree  that  shows  a  clear  brown  as  one  of  its 
J  regular  series  of  tints  in  the  living  leaf. 


254  AUTUMN   WOODS. 


[Prom  George  Barnard's  "  Drawings  from  Nature."] 

Calendar  of  the  different  Tints  assumed  by  various  Trees  toward  the  End 
of  September  (in  England). 

'  English  Maple.  The  leaves  of  the  maple  change  first  of  all  to  an  ochrey 
yellow,  then  to  a  deeper  tone. 

Ash.  Fine  lemon  yellow,  soon  falling  and  leaving  bunches  of  seeds  of 
a  brown  hue. 

Hornbeam.    Bright  yellow. 

Elm.  Generally  orange,  but  with  some  irregular  patches  of  bright 
yellow. 

Hawthorn.  Tawny  yellow,  but  greatly  modified  by  tones  of  deep  red- 
dish-brown, and  brilliant  clusters  of  berries. 

Hazel.  Pale  ochrey  yellow,  with  browner  shades  for  the  clusters  of 
nuts. 

Sycamore.   A  dull  brown. 

Oak.    Yellowish  green. 

Horse-Chestnut.  A  great  variety  of  beautiful  rich  hues,  from  a  pale 
yellow  to  a  bright  crimson  orange  [?]. 

Beech.  Also  finely  varied  in  color,  but  more  of  a  maroon  color  than 
the  chestnut. 

Cherry.  Most  diversified  and  charming,  in  tints  of  yellow,  red,  crim- 
son, maroon,  and  purple. 

NOTB.  —  I  perceive  that  the  author  does  not  distinguish  between  the  tints  of  living  and 
geared  or  dead  leaves. 


THE  COKNEL. 

THE  different  species  of  Cornel  abound  in  all  places 
occupied  by  the  viburnum,  to  which  they  bear  a  super- 
ficial resemblance,  though  the  two  genera  are  not  allied. 
They  are  graceful  and  rather  prim-looking  shrubs,  having 
a  hard  and  close-grained  wood,  and  containing  in  their 
bark  a  large  proportion  of  the  bitter  principle  of  the  cin- 
chona. Their  leaves  and  branches  are  opposite,  which 
increases  their  resemblance  to  the  viburnum.  They  are 
very  abundant  in  the  Northern  States  ;  and  it  is  remark- 
able that  the  different  species  might  be  distinguished  by 
the.  colors  of  their  fruit.  The  Florida  Cornel,  called  the 
Flowering  Dogwood,  bears  scarlet  berries ;  there  is  also  a 
purple-fruited  Cornel,  a  white-fruited  and  two  blue-fruited 
species,  one  leaden-colored,  and  in  Canada  a  species  with 
dark  brown  berries. 

It  is  seldom  that  the  species  of  any  genus  of  plants 
differ  in  the  opposite  or  alternate  characters  of  the  leaves 
and  branches.  But  the  purple-fruited  Cornel  is  called 
alternate-leaved,  to  distinguish  it  from  the  other  species. 
It  is  not,  however,  a  genuine  exception;  for  the  leaves 
come  out  around  the  stem,  not  in  a  true  alternate  ar- 
rangement, but  in  imperfect  whorls,  and  mixed  with  some 
that  are  opposite.  The  flowers  are  small,  in  irregular 
cymes  ;  the  fruit  of  a  dark  purple.  It  is  found  in  swamps 
and  low  moist  woods,  and,  with  the  other  species,  consti- 
tutes a  fair  proportion  of  the  underwood  of  our  decidu- 
ous forests. 

The  white-fruited  Cornel  is  very  frequent  by  waysides, 


256  THE   CORNEL. 

rising  a  little  above  our  loose  stone-walls.  This  seems  to 
be  the  most  abundant  species  outside  of  the  woods  in 
,the  vicinity  of  Boston.  Its  flowers  are  white  and  rather 
inconspicuous,  and  are  succeeded  by  clusters  of  pearly 
white  berries.  The  blue-fruited  Cornel,  or  red  osier, 
is  remarkable  for  its  colored  branches  and  large  round 
leaves  with  an  acuminate  termination.  The  blue  fruit 
of  this  species  is  very  ornamental,  and  it  is  distinguished 
after  the  fall  of  the  leaf  by  its  bright  red  stems  and 
branches.  The  Cornel  is  hardly  less  important  than  the 
viburnum  in  adding  variety  to  our  wood-scenery  at  all 


By  far  the  most  interesting  and  beautiful  species  of  the 
genus  is  the  Florida  Cornel,  so  called  from  its  abun- 
dance in  the  forests  on  the  American  side  of  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico.  In  all  that  region,  the  woods  in  May  are 
white  with  its  large  conspicuous  flowers,  sometimes  oc- 
cupying tracts  of  many  acres  exclusively,  covering  them 
with  an  almost  unvaried  whiteness,  before  the  leaves  of 
the  trees  are  put  forth.  The  flowers  are  borne  in  semi- 
globular  heads,  enclosed  in  a  large  spreading  involucre, 
which  is  often  mistaken  for  the  corolla,  the  florets  within 
resembling  superficially  a  collection  of  stamens.  About 
the  first  of  June,  in  New  England,  these  trees  are  very 
attractive,  seeming  like  masses  of  pure  white  inflores- 
cence. In  the  North  it  does  not  constitute  the  principal 
growth  of  any  wood  ;  but  it  is  admired  by  all  when  they 
see  it  scattered  among  the  greenery,  and  admired  the 
more  from  its  infrequency  in  this  region. 

The  small  branches  are  greenish,  striated  with  longitu- 
dinal and  irregular  white  lines.  The  leaves  are  two  or 
three  inches  long,  oval,  and  of  middle  size.  The  flowers 
appear  on  the  ends  of  the  branches,  included  in  an  in- 
volucre consisting  of  four  divisions.  The  head  of  flo- 
rets thus  enclosed  ripens  into  a  bunch  of  bright  scarlet 


THE  CORNEL.  257 

berries,  surrounded  by  a  dark  purple  calyx.  In  the  au- 
tumn all  the  species  turn  to  different  shades  of  red  and 
purple. 

The  little  dwarf  Cornel,  though  an  herbaceous  plant, 
deserves  mention  in  connection  with  the  other  species. 
It  may  be  compared  to  a  flower  cut  off  with  a  single 
whorl  of  leaves,  and  then  inserted  into  the  ground.  You 
might  suppose  that  the  large  tree  Cornel  was  buried,  and 
that  these  little  whorls,  with  their  flowers,  were  peeping 
up  through  the  ground  from  the  branches  beneath.  At 
some  distance  they  are  easily  mistaken  for  wood-anem- 
ones, though  on  examination  no  resemblance  is  apparent. 
The  flowers  are  very  showy  and  attractive  in  the  wild 
pastures  and  woods,  and  produce  in  the  autumn  a  round 
and  compact  cluster  of  scarlet  berries,  which  are  said  to 
be  pleasant  and  wholesome,  but  rather  insipid.  In  winter 
they  are  the  food  of  many  species  of  birds. 


MOUNTAINS. 

MOUNTAIN  scenery  has  always  been  admired,  and 
will  never  cease  to  charm  the  eyes  and  excite  the  ima- 
gination even  of  the  dullest  of  mankind.  However  re- 
luctant we  might  feel  to  be  surrounded  by  contiguous 
mountains,  and  imprisoned  in  their  valleys,  we  are  all 
delighted  with  a  journey  that  leads  us  through  their 
romantic  passes  and  over  their  fearful  heights.  Every 
stage  in  our  progress  opens  a  new  scene  to  our  eyes,  amus- 
ing us  alternately  with  confined  and  extensive  views,  on 
the  outside  of  a  range  often  sublime,  and  affecting  the 
mind  with  a  singular  exhilaration.  Great  altitude  is  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  sources  of  sublimity  arising  from 
position ;  and  the  emotions  produced  by  it  are  the  more 
vivid,  when  we  have  just  emerged  from  some  green  pas- 
toral valley. 

Mountains,  except  on  the  outside  of  a  range,  are  un- 
favorable to  extensive  prospects,  and  the  sublimity  of  this 
kind  of  scenery  cannot  be  felt  when  passing  along  through 
their  valleys.  Prospects  of  the  grandest  description  are 
frequent ;  but  the  inhabitants  are  for  the  most  part  shut 
out  from  all  chance  to  look  abroad  upon  the  earth,  or  even 
to  see  the  rising  and  the  setting  sun.  The  distant  view 
of  a  mountain  rising  into  the  clouds,  and  enveloped  in  a 
misty  obscurity  that  enhances  our  conception  of  its  mag- 
nitude, is  always  attended  with  an  emotion  of  grandeur, 
very  similar  to  what  is  felt  on  viewing  the  surrounding 
landscape  from  its  higher  elevations.  A  sense  of  sub- 
limity may  thus  be  excited  in  imaginative  minds  by  con- 


MOUNTAINS.  259 

templating  a  mountain  from  below;  but  in  general  a 
prisoned  sensation  must  be  felt  in  its  valleys,  from  the 
conscious  restraint  upon  our  freedom.  Here  we  have  no 
breadth  of  prospect,  as  we  should  have  from  an  island, 
and  feel  more  as  if  we  were  confined  by  walls,  though 
we  might  emerge  from  it  more  easily  than  we  could 
escape  from  the  island. 

The  moral  influence  of  a  permanent  home  in  a  moun- 
tain valley  is  highly  favorable  to  cheerfulness,  by  in- 
creasing our  susceptibility  to  be  agreeably  affected  by 
the  scenes  that  are  spread  out  above  and  beyond  us, 
which  can  be  seen  only  by  leaving  the  valley.  Our  egress 
from  this  retreat  is  always  exhilarating  and  hopeful,  be- 
cause our  journey  is  upward,  and  every  step  widens  the 
circumference  of  our  horizon.  But  if  our  home  is  on  an 
elevated  site  on  the  mountain,  that  affords  us  an  appar- 
ently boundless  prospect,  its  influence  must  be  depressing, 
because  we  cannot  enlarge  our  prospect  by  leaving  our 
situation.  Our  journey  into  the  world  is  downward. 
Every  step  narrows  our  landscape,  brings  objects  that 
were  grand  and  beautiful  in  the  distance  so  near  to  us  as 
to  be  tame  and  uninteresting.  I  can  believe,  therefore, 
that,  if  a  man  were  subject  to  melancholy,  he  would  find 
his  cure  more  certainly  by  making  his  home  in  a  valley 
than  upon  a  mountain. 

For  a  permanent  residence  I  should  prefer  a  plain, 
with  a  view  of  mountains  afar  off,  to  a  valley  among 
them,  or  to  a  mountain.  The  exhilaration  produced  by  a 
wide  prospect  and  great  altitude  is  a  tone  of  the  mind 
that  cannot  be  long  sustained,  and  we  should  lose  our 
susceptibility  to  be  affected  by  it  if  it  were  constantly 
before  our  sight.  But  a  view  of  distant  mountains  is 
not  exhilarating.  It  acts  quietly  upon  the  imagination, 
when  the  mind  is  in  a  reflective  mood ;  it  is  never  glar- 
ing, and  affords  no  unnatural  stimulus.  The  same  may 


260  MOUNTAINS. 

be  said  of  any  remarkable  prospect  from  our  doors  and 
windows,  if  placed  conspicuously  before  us.  "We  gradu- 
ally lose  our  power  of  enjoying  this  and  similar  views. 
Hence  our  daily  and  familiar  prospects  should  not  be  of 
a  stimulating  character;  for  everything  that  exhilarates, 
when  habitually  used,  deadens  the  sensibility.  The  ter- 
restrial views  about  our  home  should  be  quiet  and  inter- 
esting, but  not  extraordinary,  to  preserve  a  healthy  tone 
of  the  mind,  as  our  daily  food  should  be  plain  and  sim- 
ple to  preserve  the  health  of  the  body. 

The  same  remarks  do  not  apply  to  celestial  views.  The 
sky,  during  a  great  part  of  the  day,  is  a  mere  canopy 
of  light.  Its  exciting  effects  are  felt  only  on  extraor- 
dinary occasions,  which  are  transient.  It  is  beautiful 
when  the  sun  rises  and  when  it  sets,  enveloped  in  highly 
refractive  vapors,  and  sublime  when  curtained  by  illu- 
minated masses  of  finely  organized  Clouds.  But  these 
spectacles  are  not  liable  to  tire  us  by  their  frequency  or 
duration.  Give  me,  therefore,  a  clear  and  unobstructed 
view  of  the  heavens,  from  my  place  of  constant  resi- 
dence, that  I  may  witness  those  momentary  spectacles  of 
beauty  that  occur  in  the  morning  and  evening. 

It  is  a  popular  error  to  suppose  that  the  inhabitants  of 
mountains  acquire  from  their  habitual  prospects  a  lively 
imagination  and  an  expanded  mind.  The  influence  of 
the  scenes  around  them  would  be  quite  the  contrary,  if  it 
were  felt  at  all,  since  they  are  mostly  confined  in  valleys, 
and  shut  out  from  the  world.  Yet  it  is  not  their  limited 
view  of  the  heavens  and  the  earth  that  would  narrow 
their  minds,  but  their  want  of  intercourse  with  men ; 
for  mountaineers  are  seldom  engaged  in  commerce,  the 
grand  enlightener  of  nations.  They  are  herdsmen  and 
tillers  of  the  soil,  and  by  living  apart  from  other  men 
they  acquire  a  clannish  spirit  and  become  addicted  to 
superstition  and  fanaticism.  It  is  also  believed  that  the 


MOUNTAINS.  261 

inhabitants  of  mountains  are  more  warlike  than  the  in- 
habitants of  plains.  Their  superior  success  arises  from 
the  greater  facilities  afforded  by  their  position  for  prac- 
tising the  artifices  of  war.  They  know  all  the  passes  and 
all  the  grand  points  for  intrenchment  and  attack.  This 
knowledge  and  these  advantages  have  gained  them  an 
undue  reputation  for  courage  and  heroism. 

Nature  has  confined  her  intellectual  and  moral  gifts  to 
the  inhabitants  of  no  particular  description  of  surface. 
A  constant  familiarity  with  the  sublime  scenes  of  nature 
does  not  exalt  the  imagination ;  neither  does  a  confined 
valley,  with  its  narrow  prospects  both  of  the  heavens  and 
the  earth,  cramp  the  mind  or  dull  the  sensibility.  It 
is  the  want  of  education  and  of  intercourse  with  the 
world  that  affects  the  character.  It  cannot  be  denied 
that  there  is  a  moral  influence  arising  from  landscape ; 
but,  contrary  to  the  general  opinion,  tame  and  rather 
homely  landscape  is  the  most  favorable.  All  those  scenes 
that  enchant  with  their  beauty,  or  dazzle  and  intoxicate 
by  their  grandeur,  when  constantly  before  us,  are  depress- 
ing, and  cause  the  same  action  upon  the  mind  that  nar- 
cotic stimulants  produce  upon  the  nervous  system.  But 
the  majority  of  inhabitants  of  every  country  are  unaf- 
fected in  any  way  by  their  daily  and  habitual  prospects. 
Their  exhilarating  and  depressing  effects  are  chiefly  felt 
by  persons  of  more  than  ordinary  culture  or  poetic  sensi- 
bility. 

It  is  to  individuals  of  this  class,  however,  that  my  re- 
marks are  addressed.  They  will  agree  with  me  that  a 
moderate  share  of  the  beauty  and  sublimity  of  landscape, 
in  the  scenes  about  our  home,  is  the  most  desirable,  on 
account  of  their  moral  influence.  Homely  objects  and 
monotonous  views  are  not  depressing ;  they  are  simply 
unsatisfying  ;  and  if  we  are  within  the  reach  of  fine  pros- 
pects, we  are  always  prepared  to  enjoy  them.  Land- 


262  MOUNTAINS. 

scapes,  therefore,  except  within  very  narrow  limits,  ought 
never  to  be  highly  dressed  or  decorated.  We  should 
leave  all  such  ornamentation  to  Nature,  who,  while  she 
provides  endless  scenes  of  beauty  for  those  who  seek 
them,  never  clogs  our  sight  by  their  profusion.  Though 
the  influence  of  moderately  pleasant  natural  scenery  is 
healthful  and  never  tiresome,  I  can  imagine  nothing 
so  melancholy  and  depressing  as  a  country  universally 
dressed  in  the  highest  style  of  English  landscape  art. 

My  object  in  these  essays  is  to  present  the  reader  with 
pictures  of  those  scenes  which  are  common,  and  that 
fail  to  attract  attention  only  because  the  generality  of 
men  can  see  nothing  admirable  in  Nature  except  her 
monstrosities.  I  am  not  obliged  to  visit  Mount  Wash- 
ington or  the  Falls  of  Niagara  to  experience  the  effect 
of  that  sublimity  which  I  can  equally  perceive  in  the 
fading  fires  of  the  heavens  at  sunset,  or  in  their  starry 
glow  by  night.  The  common  scenes  of  Nature  are  capa- 
ble of  affording  the  most  intense  delight  to  those  who  have 
accustomed  their  minds  to  the  study  of  all  her  aspects. 
We  may  sail  round  the  globe  in  quest  of  scenes  of  gran- 
deur and  beauty ;  but  we  shall  seek  in  vain  for  anything 
more  beautiful  than  the  rainbow,  or  more  sublime  than 
the  sun  emerging,  as  it  were,  from  the  ocean  at  sunrise, 
enshrouded  in  the  dappled  hues  of  morning. 


THE  SUMACH. 

THE  Sumachs  are  not  the  objects  of  any  special  admi- 
ration. They  are  not'  the  favorites  of,  nature  or  of  art, 
neither  adding  dignity  to  the  landscape  nor  expression  to 
the  canvas  of  the  painter.  But  they  blend  their  fine  pin- 
nate foliage  with  the  wayside  shrubbery,  varying  its  ap- 
pearance by  their  original  habit  of  growth ;  and  they  are 
seen  springing  in  little  groups  upon  sandy  plains,  where 
they  relieve  the  eye  that  might  otherwise  be  wearied  with 
the  monotonous  waste  of  sorrel  and  tufted  andropogons. 
They  display  many  of  the  characters  of  the  tropical 
plants  in  their  long  compound  leaves,  and  in  the  exu- 
berant growth  of  their  recent  branches.  They  are  dis- 
tinguished by  their  milky,  resinous,  and  in  some  cases 
poisonous  sap. 

THE  VELVET  SUMACH, 

The  most  common  and  conspicuous  species  in  New 
England  is  the  Staghorn,  or  Velvet  Sumach,  the  largest 
of  the  genus.  Its  name  is  derived  from  a  certain  likeness 
of  its  crooked  branches,  when  deprived  of  their  leaves,  to 
a  stag's  horn.  This  Sumach  rises  to  the  dignity  of  a  tree 
in  favorable  situations,  and  soon  becomes  a  handsome 
standard,  if  the  suckers  about  the  roots  have  no  chance 
to  grow.  Though  its  branches  are  crooked  and  irregular, 
and  form  a  spray  that  is  absolutely  ugly,  the  tree  is  very 
comely  when  wearing  its  leafy  garniture  and  decked  with 
conical  bunches  of  crimson  fruit. 


264  THE  SUMACH. 

The  Sumach  is  sometimes  very  ornamental  in  situa- 
tions that  permit  the  whole  ground  to  be  occupied  by  it. 
Its  natural  habit  of  growth  is  in  clumps,  gradually  spread- 
ing over  a  wide  extent  of  surface.  So  prone  is  this  tree 
to  throw  up  suckers  from  its  long  roots,  that  if  it  meets 
with  no  opposition  it^  is  apt  to  monopolize  the  whole 
ground.  The  most  appropriate  places  for  it  are  the  banks 
of  railroads  and  other  similar  slopes,  which  are  rendered 
firm  by  the  network  of  its  numerous  roots.  There  is  no 
other  plant  that  would  in  so  short  a  time  cover  a  grav- 
elly bank  with  wood  and  foliage. 

The  Smooth  Sumach  is  a  smaller  shrub,  averaging  only 
three  or  four  feet  in  height.  It  affects  similar  localities, 
being  common  on  the  borders  of  dry  fields  and  the  sides 
of  old  roads  that  pass  over  a  sandy  and  gravelly  plain. 
It  is  not  readily  distinguished  from  the  larger  species ; 
but  its  fruit  and  flowers  are  borne  in  loose  panicles,  and 
its  bunches  have  none  of  that  downy  substance  that  char- 
acterizes the  Velvet  Sumach. 

THE  POISON   SUMACH,   OR  DOGWOOD. 

I  come  now  to  speak  of  the  Bohon  Upas  of  our  land, 
—  the  Poison  Sumach.  This  is  confessedly  a  danger- 
ous plant,  and  is  allied  to  the  shrub  from  which  the 
celebrated  Wourali  poison  is  made  by  the  natives  of 
Guiana.  The  poisonous  properties  of  the  sap  are  said  to 
be  dissipated  by  boiling.  Hence  the  varnish  prepared 
by  the  Chinese  from  the  sap  of  this  plant  is  free  from 
its  injurious  properties.  Hence  also  the  danger  of  being 
exposed  to  its  fumes,  when  its  branches  are  burned  with 
other  brush. 

The  Poison  Sumach  is  a  very  elegant  shrub.  It  is 
prim  and  slender,  and  draws  attention  by  its  want  of 
resemblance  to  other  trees  and  shrubs  in  our  woods.  The 


THE  SUMACH.  265 

main  stems  and  principal  branches  are  of  an  ashen-gray 
color,  though  the  recent  shoots,  before  they  harden  into 
wood,  and  the  leaf-stems  are  of  a  fine  crimson  or  purple. 
The  leaves  are  beautifully  pinnate,  of  a  light  green  hue 
with  purple  veins.  The  flowers  and  fruit  are  greenish, 
inconspicuous,  and  without  any  beauty.  This  plant,  un- 
like the  other  species,  is  found  only  in  low  boggy  situa- 
tions. 

There  are  some  unaccountable  facts  connected  with  the 
poisonous  qualities  of  this  tree.  While  some  persons  are 
affected  with  dangerous  swellings  and  inflammation  on 
the  least  exposure  to  it,  others  handle  it,  breathe  its 
burning  fumes,  and  even  chew  its  leaves  and  branches 
with  impunity.  Some  are  rendered  more  susceptible  by 
having  been  once  poisoned  ;  others,  who  were  often  injuri- 
ously affected  by  it  in  their  youth,  outgrow  their  suscep- 
tibility, and  may  afterwards  handle  the  plant  without 
danger.  As  certain  persons  are  exempt  from  the  ma- 
lignant effects  of  this  plant,  there  is  occasionally  an  in- 
stance of  similar  effects  suffered  by  individuals  from  other 
plants.  I  am  acquainted  with  a  lady  who  has  been  fre- 
quently poisoned  by  handling  the  branches  of  the  black 
wild-cherry.  Such  isolated  facts  serve  to  increase  the 
mystery  attending  the  subject. 

A  notion  prevails  in  the  country,  that  the  recent  shoots 
of  the  pitch-pine,  if  frequently  chewed,  will  render  any 
one  safe  from  the  effects  of  this  poison.  The  forest  un- 
doubtedly abounds  in  antidotes  to  the  injurious  action  of 
the  Poison  Sumach  and  other  similar  plants  ;  and  I  have 
often  thought  that  the  impunity  with  which  the  goat 
browses  upon  narcotic  herbs  may  be  caused  by  the  coun- 
teracting effects  of  other  plants  among  the  many  species 
which  he  devours  in  the  field  and  pasture.  It  is  ad- 
mitted that  persons  who  spend  much  of  their  time  in  the 
woods  are  not  liable  to  be  affected  by  this  poison.  They 
12 


266  THE  ELDER. 

may,  in  some  way  or  other,  become  inoculated  with  its 
antidotes.  I  have  never  suffered  in  the  least  degree  from 
it,  though  I  have  passed  a  considerable  part  of  my  life- 
time in  the  forest.  Catesby  mentions  a  fact,  which  he 
says  was  well  attested,  of  an  Indian  who  daubed  himself 
with  the  juice  of  the  purple  bindweed,  and  then  handled 
a  rattlesnake  with  his  naked  hands  with  impunity.  Some 
high  authority  may  be  quoted  to  sustain  any  similar  im- 
probable fact  or  absurd  opinion. 


THE  ELDER. 

EVERYBODY  is  familiar  with  the  Elder,  with  its  large 
corymbs  of  white  flowers,  hanging  over  ditches  and  water- 
courses, rivalling  the  linden  in  sweetness  and  equalling 
the  balm  in  its  healing  virtues.  It  is  common  in  all  wet 
fallows,  flowering  in  the  latter  part  of  June.  No  shrub  is 
so  generally  known,  both  as  a  tenant  of  the  fields  and  as 
an  ingredient  in  the  packages  of  the  simpler.  We  have 
seen  its  dried  flowers  in  nice  paper  bags,  neatly  done  up 
by  some  benevolent  hands  for  the  benefit  of  the  sick, 
and  we  breathed  their  odors  as  they  were  wafted  from 
the  vessel  in  which  they  were  steeped,  before  we  ever 
saw  them  in  the  fields.  The  Elder  is  one  of  the  flower- 
ing shrubs  that  first  attracts  our  attention  after  the  blos- 
soms of  the  orchard  have  faded.  The  bee  is  seen  to 
hunt  for  it  before  the  vine  is  in  blossom,  leaving  the 
flowers  of  the  garden  for  these  abundant  stores  of  native 
sweets.  In  autumn  we  have  seen  the  fences  and  brook- 
sides  laden  with  its  fruit,  while  the  purple  clusters  were 
stripped  day  after  day  by  the  robin  and  catbird,  until  not 
one  was  left  to  fall  to  the  ground.  When  the  leaves  are 
gone,  the  branches  are  sought  by  children,  who  use  its 
hollow  wood  for  making  various  juvenile  implements. 


THE  ELDER.  267 

"The  Elder,"  says  Barnard,  speaking  of  the  English 
plant,  "  is  common,  almost  universal,  in  cottage  gardens, 
hedge-rows,  and  rums.  It  is  in  fact  a  thoroughly  domes- 
ticated tree,  and  seldom  is  it  found  in  England  far  from 
human  habitation,  although  I  have  seen  it  in  the  wildest 
valleys  of  the  Pyrenees,  when  it  appeared*  to  have  the 
richest  scarlet  berries,  instead  of  black."  The  species  seen 
in  the  Pyrenees  is  probably  identical  with  the  American 
panicled  Elder,  a  rare  species  in  New  England,  bearing 
its  flowers  in  spikes,  and  producing  scarlet  berries. 

The  Elder  has  not  much  beauty  when  unadorned  either 
with  flowers  or  fruit.  Its  pinnate  leaves  are  of  a  dull 
green,  and  seldom  add  any  tints  to  the  glory  of  autumn. 
Its  flowers,  borne  in  large  flat  cymes,  are  very  showy,  and 
emit  a  peculiar  though  agreeable  odor,  and  are  used  in 
Europe'  to  give  to  wine  the  flavor  of  Frontignac.  The 
berries  of  the  European  Elder,  which  is  believed  by  Mi- 
chaux  to  be  the  same  as  the  American  common  Elder, 
differing  only  in  its  superior  size,  are  said  to  be  poison- 
ous to  poultry.  But  the  fruit  of  the  American  shrub 
possesses  no  such  properties.  It  is  eagerly  devoured  by 
the  insectivorous  birds,  and  is  used  in  the  manufacture 
of  a  harmless  dietetic  wine,  whose  benefits  have  been 
very  generally  appreciated  by  nostrum  venders. 


KUDENESS  AND   SIMPLICITY. 

WHEN  making  a  pedestrian  journey  I  always  follow  the 
rudest  paths,  unless  the  whole  surface  is  wild  and  rugged. 
Especially  in  the  suburbs  of  cities,  I  avoid  the  roads  that 
would  lead  me  past  elegant  villas,  and  turn  aside  into  the 
more  homely  parts  of  the  town,  where  I  may  behold  some 
pleasant  reminders  of  simple  and  humble  modes  of  life. 
I  am  willing  to  see  an  occasional  dilapidated  house,  with 
its  broken  fences,  its  burdocks,  and  its  neglected  garden. 
These  hardly  lessen  the  pleasure  afforded  me  by  the  sight 
of  neat  little  cottages,  in  many  different  styles,  their 
modest  gardens  and  flower-beds,  their  playful  children 
around  their  doors,  unencumbered  with  elegant  restraints, 
and  the  general  signs  of  unambitious  comfort.  I  prefer 
these  neat  and  homely  scenes  to  the  most  beautiful  pros- 
pects when  marred  by  ostentatious  decorations. 

A  great  deal  has  been  said  and  written  in  these  days  by 
lecturers  and  essayists  to  persuade  men  to  love  and  ap- 
preciate the  "  beautiful."  But  the  multitude  are  very  far 
from  needing  ;any  such  lessons ;  as  well  might  we  waste 
words  in  persuading  them  to  seek  pleasure.  It  is  rude 
landscape  and  homely  objects,  having  a  charm  about  them 
that  is  more  admirable  than  beauty,  which  men  in  general 
can  learn  only  by  tuition  to  appreciate.  All  men  have  an 
innate  love  of  the  "beautiful,"  —  a  native  passion  for 
paint,  feathers,  and  brocade.  To  children  and  boors  a 
border  of  peonies  is  vastly  more  attractive  than  the  rude 
scenery  of  our  New  England  hills ;  and  the  love  of  flashy 
colors  manifested  by  barbarians  has  always  been  remarked. 


" 


' 
- 


RUDENESS   AND   SIMPLICITY.  271 

and  in  the  rear  of  the  house  a  quantity  of  wood  is  neatly 
piled  against  the  rugged  stone-wall  There  is  an  absence 
of  all  litter  about  the  house ;  and  the  superfluous  branches 
which  have  been  lopped  from  the  orchard  trees  are  cut  up 
for  fuel,  and  thrown  into  a  conical  heap  a  few  steps  from 
the  back  door.  A  foot-path  winds  along  the  roadside  to 
the  front,  and  another  in  the  rear  of  the  house  leads  to 
the  field  or  garden.  There  is  neither  paint  nor  white- 
wash anywhere  to  be  seen,  yet  all  who  pass  by  would 
point  to  the  place  as  a  pattern  of  neatness. 

But  Fashion,  the  idol  of  vulgar  minds,  not  content 
with  exercising  her  sway  in  the  palatial  mansion  and  at 
the  haberdasher's  shop,  in  deciding  the  comparative  merits 
of  insipid  pears  at  the  horticultural  rooms,  and  displaying 
her  metaphysical  subtlety  in  wine-cellars,  became,  a  few 
years  since,  a  teacher  of  aesthetics.  Since  that  time  "  men 
of  taste  "  have  been  at  work,  in  book,  pamphlet,  and  lec- 
ture, casting  contempt  upon  rudeness  and  simplicity, 
always  reserving  a  little  praise  for  their  counterfeit.  Ac- 
cording to  their  ideas,  nothing  in  village  scenery  should  be 
tolerated  that  is  not  "  beautiful."  They  would  destroy  or 
remove  out  of  sight  every  object  that  does  not  bear  on  its 
face  the  gilding  of  wealth  or  the  flummery  of  art.  Al- 
ready, in  many  of  our  villages  once  charming  in  their 
simplicity,  do  we  see  the  effects  of  this  esthetic  vandal- 
ism. How  many  a  delightful  place,  which  we  could  not 
look  upon  without  imagining  it  a  little  nook  in  paradise, 
has  been  destroyed  by  the  prevailing  taste  for  beautifying 
one's  abode !  How  many  comfortable  old  farm-houses,  with 
their  neat  and  rustic  enclosures,  their  tussocks  of  wild 
shrubbery  that  afforded  a  harbor  to  the  birds,  and  their 
pleasant  approaches  by  a  foot-path  fringed  with  wild 
flowers,  have  been  improved  and  beautified,  until  we  turn 
from  them  with  mingled  disgust  and  contempt,  as  from  an 
aged  crone  dressed  in  jewels  and  laces  ! 


272  RUDENESS  AND   SIMPLICITY. 

But  why  is  this  expression  of  rudeness,  when  com- 
bined with  other  agreeable  qualities  of  landscape,  so 
charming  ?  Why  do  we  prefer  a  country  that  is  marked 
with  a  certain  degree  of  wildness  to  one  that  is  highly 
ornate  and  beautiful  ?  Because  we  love  the  evidences  of 
a  happy  state  of  society.  We  would  not  that  nature 
should  remain  a  wilderness,  nor  be  transformed  into  a 
garden,  because  the  one  indicates  a  savage  state,  the  oth- 
er a  degree  of  luxury  that  is  incompatible  with  the  best 
welfare  of  man.  We  would  behold  in  our  rural  prospects 
the  traces  of  a  hardy  and  virtuous  population.  If  Nature 
herself  has  become  effeminate,  what  can  we  expect  of  her 
children  ?  If  Nature  be  dressed  like  a  courtesan,  will  the 
children  of  the  swains  who  live  upon  her  bounties  be 
contented  with  the  humble  emblems  of  industry,  —  the 
reaping-hook  and  the  wheaten  sheaf?  I  prefer  those 
appearances  which  are  tokens  of  virtuous  frugality,  tem- 
perance, and  industry,  to  the  most  admired  scenes  of 
grandeur  and  luxury.  For  this  cause  do  the  moss-grown 
rocks  by  the  hillside,  fields  of  grain  and  orchards  sur- 
rounded by  the  rude  landscape  of  nature,  plain  farm- 
houses smiling  amid  the  golden  products  of  independent 
labor,  affect  us  with  delightful  sentiments,  as  evidence  of 
those  healthful  habits  which  are  not  yet  banished  from 
the  land  by  luxurious  improvement. 


THE  HEATH. 

THERE  are  no  heaths  in  New  England,  or  on  the  Ameri- 
can Continent.  We  know  them  only  as  they  are  described 
in  books,  or  as  they  are  displayed  in  greenhouses.  We 
are  strangers  to  those  immense  assemblages  that  furnish 
an  uninterrupted  vegetable  covering  to  the  earth's  surface, 
from  the  plains  of  Germany  to  Lapland  on  the  north,  and 
to  the  Ural  Mountains  on  the  east.  These  plains,  called 
heaths  or  heathlands,  are  a  kind  of  sandy  bogs,  which  are 
favorable  to  the  growth  of  the  Heath,  while  other  plants 
with  these  disadvantages  of  soil  cannot  compete  with  them. 
The  tenacity  with  which  they  maintain  their  ground  ren- 
ders them  a  great  obstacle  to  agricultural  improvement. 
They  overspread  large  districts  to  the  almost  entire  exclu- 
sion of  other  vegetation,  rendering  the  lands  unfit  to  be 
pastured,  and  useless  for  any  purpose  except  to  furnish 
bees  with  an  ample  repast  but  an  inferior  honey. 

It  is  often  lamented  by  the  lovers  of  nature  that  the 
Heath,  the  poetical  favorite  of  the  people,  the  humble 
flower  of  solitude,  the  friend  of  the  bird  and  the  bee,  af- 
fording them  a  bower  of  foliage  and  a  garden  of  sweets, 
and  furnishing  a  bulwark  to  larks  and  nightingales  against 
the  progress  of  agriculture,  —  it  is  often  lamented  that  this 
plant  should  be  unknown  as  an  indigenous  inhabitant  of 
the  New  World.  But  if  its  absence  be  a  cause  for  regret 
to  those  who  have  learned  to  admire  it  as  the  poetic  sym- 
bol of  melancholy,  and  as  a  beautiful  ornament  of  the 
wilds,  the  husbandman  may  rejoice  in  its  absence.  We 
have  in  America  the  whortleberry,  whose  numerous  spe- 


274  THE  ANDROMEDA. 

cies  and  varieties  occupy,  like  the  heaths  of  Europe,  those 
lands  which  have  not  been  reduced  to  tillage,  without  de- 
priving them  of  their  usefulness  to  man.  They  become  in 
their  beneficent  products  a  source  of  profit  to  thousands 
of  indigent  gleaners  of  the  pastures,  and  of  simple  luxury 
to  all  our  inhabitants.  Though  Nature  has  denied  us  the 
barren  flower,  and  left  the  imagination  unrequited,  she 
has  given  us,  in  the  place  of  it,  a  simple  fruit  that  fur- 
nishes annual  occasions  for  many  a  delightful  excursion 
to  the  youths  and  children  of  our  land,  and  is  a  simple 
blessing  to  the  poor. 

The  farmers  of  Eastern  Massachusetts,  who  have  seen 
the  dyer's  broom  spread  itself  over  the  hills,  occupying 
the  whole  ground,  and  entirely  displacing  all  valuable 
herbs  and  grasses,  may  form  some  idea  of  the  mischiefs 
attending  the  spread  of  the  Heath  in  Europe.  The 
heaths  might  be  described  as  tree-mosses,  bearing  a  multi- 
tude of  minute  campanulate  flowers  of  various  colors. 
They  are  not  exceeded  by  any  other  plants,  except  mosses, 
in  the  uniform  delicacy  of  their  structure.  Hence  they 
are  admired  by  florists,  who  find  among  them  those  mul- 
titudinous varieties  which,  in  other  plants,  are  produced 
by  culture. 


THE  ANDROMEDA. 

THE  plants  of  New  England  which  are  most  nearly 
allied  to  the  heath  are  the  different  species  of  Androm- 
eda. These  plants  vary  in  height  from  one  foot  to  seven 
or  eight  feet.  They  resemble  the  whortleberry  in  their 
general  appearance,  and  in  their  leaves  and  flowers,  but 
their  fruit  is  a  dry  capsule,  not  a  berry,  and  their  foliage 
is  not  tinted  in  the  autumn.  They  are,  I  believe,  with- 


THE  ANDROMEDA.  275 

out  an  English  name.  Several  species  are  indigenous  in 
New  England,  but  only  two  or  three  of  them  are  com- 
mon. One  of  the  most  beautiful,  though  extremely  rare,  is 
the  Water  Andromeda,  which  is  found  near  the  edges  of 
ponds.  This  is  the  species  which  suggested  to  Linnaeus 
the  name  given  by  him  to  the  genus.  He  describes  it 
in  his  "  Tour  of  Lapland "  as  "  decorating  the  marshy 
grounds  in  a  most  agreeable  manner.  The  flowers  are 
quite  blood-red  before  they  expand  ;  but  when  full-grown 
the  corolla  is  of  a  flesh-color.  Scarcely  any  painter's  art 
can  so  happily  imitate  the  beauty  of  a  fine  female  com- 
plexion ;  still  less  could  any  artificial  color  upon  the  face 
itself  bear  a  comparison  with  this  lovely  blossom."  He 
thought  of  Andromeda  as  described  by  the  poets,  and 
traced  a  fancied  resemblance  between  the  virgin  and  the 
plant,  to  which  it  seemed  to  him  her  name  might  be 
appropriately  given. 

One  of  the  most  common  of  our  small  water  shrubs, 
very  homely  when  viewed  from  a  distance,  but  neat  and 
elegant  under  close  inspection,  is  the  Dwarf  Andromeda. 
It  covers  in  some  parts  of  the  country  wide  tracts  of 
swampy  land,  after  the  manner  of  the  heath,  and  is  not 
very  unlike  it  in  botanical  characters,  with  its  slender 
branches  and  myrtle-like  foliage.  It  opens  its  flowers 
very  early  in  spring,  arranged  in  a  long  row,  like  those  of 
the  great  Solomon's-seal,  extending  almost  from  the  roots 
to  the  extremities  of  the  branches.  The  flowers  all  lean 
one  way,  each  flower  proceeding  from  the  axil  of  a  small 
leaf.  Though  an  evergreen,  the  verdure  of  its  foliage  is  so 
dull  and  rusty  that  it  is  hardly  distinguished  in  the  mead- 
ows which  are  occupied  by  it. 

Another  remarkable  species  is  the  panicled  Andromeda, 
a  tall  and  very  common  shrub  in  Eastern  Massachusetts, 
distinguished  from  the  whortleberry  by  its  large  com- 
pound clusters  of  densely  crowded  white  flowers  of  a 


276  THE  ANDROMEDA. 

nearly  globular  shape.  These  flowers  are  much  neater  and 
more  beautiful  on  examination  than  those  of  the  blue- 
berry, and  resemble  clusters  of  white  beads.  They  are 
succeeded  by  a  dry  capsular  fruit,  bearing  a  superficial 
resemblance  to  white  peppercorns.  The  fishermen  of  our 
coast  have  always  employed  the  branches  of  this  shrub, 
with  those  of  the  clethra,  on  account  of  their  firmness 
and  durability,  as  coverings  to  the  "flakes"  which  are 
used  for  the  spreading  and  drying  of  codfish.  These  two 
shrubs  were  formerly  distinguished  by  them  as  the  "  black 
and  the  white  pepper-bush,"  one  having  berries  of  a  lighter 
color  than  the  other. 


TKEES  FOR  SHADE  AND  SALUBEITY. 

THE  advantages  of  trees  for  shade  and  protection  may 
seem  less  hypothetical  than  those  we  claim  for  them  as 
agents  in  nature's  economy.  Every  man  clearly  perceives 
that  a  mere  belt  of  trees  will  protect  his  grounds  from  the 
severe  action  of  the  winds,  and  shade  them  from  the 
scorching  heat  of  the  sun.  This  is  a  point  that  requires 
no  effort  of  reason  to  be  understood ;  it  is  plain  to  the 
senses  of  every  man  who  knows  enough  to  walk  on  the 
shady  side  of  the  road  for  comfort  on  a  summer's  day. 
Even  the  flocks  and  herds  have  mind  enough  to  perceive 
that  a  tree  will  afford  them  shade,  and  that  the  leeward 
side  of  a  wood  will  protect  them  from  the  wind.  But 
the  philosophy  even  of  this  branch  of  dendrology  is  not 
fully  understood.  The  extent  of  the  advantages  of  trees 
as  a  protection  of  the  whole  country  from  the  force  of 
winds,  and  their  effects  upon  agriculture  and  the  amelio- 
ration of  the  climate,  according  to  the  disposition  that  is 
made  of  them,  are  hardly  appreciated. 

It  is  a  foolish  canon  of  taste  that  substitutes  harmony 
in  the  disposition  of  objects  in  a  landscape  in  the  place  of 
that  accidental  formality  in  the  rows  of  trees  which  have 
grown  up  spontaneously  by  the  fences  in  the  old  farms 
of  New  England.  This  is  said  to  be  done  by  "  improvers," 
to  avoid  the  stiff  and  checker-board  appearance  of  square 
fields  belted  with  trees.  It  is  true,  that,  if  we  were  to  look 
down  from  an  eminence,  we  should  feel  more  of  the  sen- 
sation of  beauty  from  the  view  of  a  landscape  in  which 
no  such  formalities  are  apparent.  These  rows  make  the 


278  TREES  FOE  SHADE  AND   SALUBEITT. 

boundary  lines  of  the  different  farms  and  estates  and 
their  subdivisions  painfully  conspicuous.  But  the  dis- 
agreeable impressions  caused  by  them  are  relieved  by 
our  sense  of  the  utility  and  advantages  of  trees  dis- 
posed in  this  formal  manner ;  for  by  no  other  arrange- 
ment would  they  afford  the  adjoining  fields  equal  protec- 
tion from  the  winds.  If  our  rustic  ancestors  had  planted 
all  these  formal  rows  of  trees  and  shrubbery  which  nature 
has  raised  in  spite  of  them,  they  would  have  proved  their 
wisdom  and  foresight. 

It  is  often  said  that  solid  fences  are  a  better  protection 
from  the  winds  than  trees  and  shrubs.  It  is  true  that 
fences  protect  those  objects  that  stand  on  their  leeward  side, 
but  they  aggravate  the  force  of  the  wind  on  their  windward 
side.  When  the  wind  strikes  a  solid  fence,  it  creates  a 
forcible  eddy;  this  would  be  broken  and  diminished 
by  the  action  of  shrubbery  which  has  no  reverberating 
power.  The  fence  reverberates  the  wind,  the  shrubbery 
absorbs  it.  If  you  throw  water  against  a  fence,  it  re- 
bounds with  nearly  its  original  force ;  if  you  throw  water 
against  a  mass  of  shrubbery,  there  is  no  appreciable  re- 
bound; it  enters  and  penetrates  the  whole  mass.  The 
action  of  clumps  and  large  groups  of  trees,  especially  if 
they  contain  their  undergrowth,  is  very  advantageous  in 
breaking  the  force  of  winds ;  but  of  equal  quantities  of 
wood  and  shrubbery,  one  part  disposed  in  scattered  groups, 
the  other  drawn  out  into  lines,  and  standing  in  the  bor- 
ders of  fields,  though  the  first  would  make  a  more  har- 
monious landscape  scene,  the  last  would  be  more  service- 
able to  the  local  climate.  Wood  in  the  borders  protects 
the  grounds  on  every  side;  and  so  long  as  the  land  is 
divided  among  the  people  into  small  farms,  and  these 
farms  are  also  subdivided  into  fields,  we  look  upon  it  as 
expressing  the  thrift  and  prosperity  of  the  inhabitants. 

Closely  connected  with  the  advantages   of  trees  for 


TKEES  FOE  SHADE  AND  SALUBRITY.       279 

shade  and  protection  are  those  which  relate  to  salubrity ; 
though  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  trees  are  not  in  all 
places  and  situations  promotive  of  health  and  comfort. 
It  is  well  known  that  the  inhabitants  of  our  Southern 
cities,  during  ^the  sickly  season,  or  from  June  to  October, 
resort  to  the  "pine  barrens"  for  health  and  recreation. 
The  air  in  these  woods  is  perfectly  salubrious  ;  even  the 
half-inundated  lands  communicate  no  disease  when  cov- 
ered with  wood.  There  is  something  connected  with  large 
assemblages  of  trees  that  prevents  the  formation  of  malaria 
in  the  atmosphere,  or  at  least  deprives  it  of  its  power  of 
communicating  disease.  Mr.  Marsh  records  the  fact,  that, 
in  certain  unhealthy  districts  of  Italy,  "  the  interposition 
of  a  screen  of  trees  preserved  everything  beyond  it,  while 
the  unprotected  grounds  were  subject  to  fevers  " ;  and  he 
adds,  "  the  belief  that  rows  of  trees  afford  an  important 
protection  against  malarious  influences  is  very  general 
among  Italians  best  qualified  by  intelligence  and  profes- 
sional experience  to  judge  upon  the  subject." 

How  many  of  the  seemingly  capricious  movements  of 
epidemics  might  be  traced  to  the  presence  or  absence  of 
trees  and  woods,  if  our  experience  were  enlightened  by 
special  investigation,  cannot  be  determined.  An  increase 
of  knowledge  on  this  subject  may  refer  these  things  to 
some  yet  unsuspected  action  of  trees  in  the  economy  of 
nature.  It  is  not  yet  known  whether  the  salubrity  of 
forests  be  caused  by  some  chemical  action  of  the  foliage 
upon  the  atmosphere,  destroying  or  absorbing  noxious 
effluvia,  or  whether  the  trees  act  simply  as  a  bulwark 
against  the  access  of  malarious  currents  of  air.  Indeed, 
the  principal  cause  of  their  salubrity  may  be  the  dense 
mass  of  foliage  with  which  the  ground  is  covered,  espe- 
cially under  a  pine  wood,  preventing  the  escape  of  malaria 
from  the  soil.  An  improved  knowledge  of  the  chemistry 
of  the  atmosphere  may  at  some  future  time  reveal  the 


280       TREES  FOR  SHADE  AND  SALUBRITY. 

laws  of  these  influences ;  and  as  the  chloride  of  lime 
disinfects  the  foul  air  of  a  chamber,  it  may  appear  that 
there  are  emanations  from  the  leaves  of  trees,  combined 
with  their  absorbent  action,  that  purify  the  atmosphere 
in  more  ways  than  have  yet  been  imagined.  These  hints 
are  only  conjectures;  but  the  fact  is  admitted  by  the 
pioneers  of  the  Western  States,  that  the  man  who  culti- 
vates a  small  clearing  in  the  forest  is  secure,  while  the  in- 
habitant of  the  prairie  or  of  a  clearing  that  occupies  the 
space  of  several  miles  is  subject  to  fever  and  ague  and 
other  malarious  fevers. 

The  greater  warmth  of  a  wood  in  summer  after  dew- 
fall  and  during  all  the  early  part  of  the  night,  when 
people  are  generally  out  of  doors,  contributes  very  greatly 
to  the  salubrity  of  a  forest.  The  malaria  are  most  perni- 
cious to  those  who  are  exposed  to  the  damp  chill  and 
dews  ;  and  it  is  well  known  that  those  who  keep  within 
doors  after  dewfall  in  summer  are  generally  exempt  from 
fevers.  The  temperature  of  the  atmosphere  within  a. 
wood  being  warmer  than  the  outer  air,  whenever  the  dews 
are  falling,  as  in  the  early  part  of  all  still  summer  nights 
in  clear  weather,  the  dwellers  in  the  wood  are  pro- 
tected from  chills  to  which  the  inhabitants  of  the  open 
districts  are  exposed  in  the  evening  of  almost  every  day. 
Probably  it  is  a  combination  of  all  these  circumstances 
that  causes  the  general  salubrity  of  a  residence  in  a  wood ; 
and  an  increased  knowledge  of  the  facts  that  bear  upon 
this  subject  would  probably  multiply  our  motives  for  the 
preservation  of  the  forests. 

All  these  remarks  apply  chiefly  to  assemblages  of  wood 
of  considerable  extent.  When  a  few  trees  surround  a 
house  standing  on  an  open  plain,  they  do  not  produce  all 
the  effects  we  experience  in  a  wood.  They  are  not  suffi- 
cient to  enclose  within  their  area  an  atmosphere  that  is 
not  immediately  affected  by  the  temperature  and  moisture 


TEEES   FOR   SHADE   AND   SALUBRITY.  281 

of  the  outer  space.  The  air  underneath  a  small  group  of 
trees  is  not  therefore  sensibly  warmer  in  the  night  than 
outside  of  them.  They  are,  indeed,  for  the  most  part, 
rather  unfavorable  to  health  when  so  near  a  house  as  to 
generate  dampness  and  prevent  the  drying  action  of  the 


THE  EOSE. 

IN  my  description  of  flowering  trees  and  shrubs,  I 
must  not  omit  the  Rose,  the  most  celebrated  and  the 
most  beautiful  of  flowers ;  the  delight  of  mankind  in  all 
ages  and  in  every  country ;  the  pride  of  all  gardens,  and 
the  chief  ornament  of  the  field  and  woodside ;  the  poetic 
emblem  of  love  and  the  symbol  of  truth,  inasmuch  as  its 
beauty  is  accompanied  by  the  virtues  of  sweetness  and 
purity.  In  every  language  have  its  praises  been  sung, 
and  poets  have  bestowed  upon  it  all  the  epithets  that 
could  be  applied  to  a  direct  gift  from  Heaven.  From  its 
graces,  too,  they  borrow  those  images  they  would  bestow 
upon  the  living  objects  of  their  idolatry.  The  modest 
blush  of  innocence  is  but  the  tint  of  the  Rose ;  its  hues 
are  the  flush  of  morning  and  the  "  purple  light  of  love." 
The  nightingale  is  supposed  to  have  become  the  chief  of 
singing  birds  by  warbling  the  praises  of  the  Rose,  inspired 
by  the  beauty  of  this  flower  with  that  divine  ecstasy 
which  characterizes  his  lay.  In  all  ages  the  Rose  has  had 
part  in  the  principal  festivities  of  the  people,  the  offering 
of  love  and  the  token  of  favor ;  the  crown  of  the  bride 
at  bridal  feasts,  and  the  emblem  of  all  virtue  and  all 
delight. 

So  important  a  shrub  as  the  Rose  cannot  be  an  incon- 
spicuous feature  either  in  our  wild  or  our  domestic  scen- 
ery. Every  wood  contains  one  or  two  species  in  their 
wild  state,  and  every  enclosure  in  our  villages  some 
beautiful  foreign  roses,  which  are  equally  familiar  to  our 
sight.  I  have  nothing  to  say  of  the  multitude  of  im- 


THE  ROSE.  283 

proved  varieties  lately  introduced  by  florists.  There  is  a 
point  of  perfection  that  cannot  be  surpassed  in  the  im- 
provement of  any  species  of  plant.  An  additional  num- 
ber of  petals  does  not  always  increase  the  beauty  of  a 
flower.  In  the  scale  of  all  kinds  of  perfection,  both 
physical  and  moral,  there  is  a  degree  beyond  which  im- 
provement is  only  the  addition  of  insipidity. 


THE  EGLANTINE,   OR   SWEETBRIER. 

The  Eglantine  is  the  poetical  name  of  one  of  the  most 
charming  species  of  rose,  generally  known  in  this  coun- 
try as  the  Sweetbrier,  noted  for  its  scented  foliage  and 
its  multitude  of  thorns.  This  species  seems  to  occupy  a 
mean  between  the  tree-roses  and  the  climbers.  It  often 
mounts  to  a  considerable  height,  supporting  its  posi- 
tion by  its  thorns.  I  have  seen  a  Sweetbrier  growing 
wild  upon  a  juniper  to  the  height  of  fifteen  feet,  and 
covering  the  whole  tree.  The  flowers  are  small  and  of  a 
pale  crimson,  having  less  sweetness  than  the  common 
rose.  The  American  Sweetbrier  has  paler  flowers  and  a 
smaller  leaf;  the  English  plant  has  larger  flowers  of  a 
deeper  color,  and  more  luxuriant  foliage.  The  American 
species,  however,  attains  the  greater  height ;  it  is  more 
fragrant,  and  more  abundant  in  flowers. 

THE  SWAMP  ROSE. 

There  is  not  a  sweeter  or  more  beautiful  plant,  in  its 
native  fields,  than  the  common  Wild  Rose  of  our  meadows. 
It  flowers  early  in  June,  clustering  in  all  wild  pastures 
and  in  all  neglected  fields,  forming  beautiful  sponta- 
neous hedge-rows  by  the  sides  of  fences,  and  groups  and 
beds  of  shrubbery  in  all  wild  lands.  The  Swamp  Rose 


284  THE  HOSE. 

varies  in  height,  according  to  the  quality  of  the  soil  it 
occupies.  I  have  seen  it  from  four  to  five  feet  in  height 
on  the  alluvial  borders  of  streams,  while  in  uplands  it 
seldom  exceeds  two  feet.  This  shrub  has  a  fine  glossy 
pinnate  foliage,  and  flowers  of  a  deep  crimson,  somewhat 
larger  than  those  of  the  sweetbrier.  Occasionally  a  variety 
is  seen  with  white  flowers.  The  Wild  Rose  is  very  com- 
mon near  footpaths  through  the  fields,  forming  natural 
clumps,  often  extending  into  the  enclosures  of  some  rustic 
cottage.  In  winter  it  is  easily  recognized  by  the  fine 
purple  hue  of  its  smaller  branches. 

But  this  shrub  finds  no  favor  except  from  the  lovers  of 
nature.  I  have  seen  men  employed  in  "grubbing  up" 
the  Wild  Rose  bushes  that  skirted  the  lanes  extending 
from  their  enclosures  to  an  adjoining  wood.  A  similar 
vandalism  causes  them  to  whitewash  their  stone- walls  and 
the  trunks  of  shade-trees,  as  if  beauty  consisted  in  a  gloss 
of  art  spread  over  all  the  works  of  nature.  If  we  were 
to  carry  out  the  idea  of  these  improvers,  we  should  de- 
stroy every  wilding  in  the  borders  of  our  fields,  and 
plant  florists'  flowers  in  spots  of  spaded  earth  cut  out  of 
the  turf.  It  is  fashion  alone  that  causes  the  florists'  roses 
to  be  admired  more  than  the  wild  roses  of  the  fields  and 
brooksides.  They  are,  it  is  true,  more  splendid  and  full 
But  who  would  be  pleased  to  find  these  petted  favorites 
of  gardeners  in  the  rustic  lane  or  the  solitary  wood-path  ? 
Let  them  continue  to  be  admired  in  the  parterre ;  but  let 
not'  our  admiration  of  their  artificial  beauty  cause  us  to 
neglect  or  despise  the  simple  denizens  of  the  field  and 
forest. 


WOOD-PATHS. 

THERE  is  no  person  who  is  not  sensitive  to  the  beauty 
of  a  natural  wood.  All  men  feel  the  comfort  of  its 
shade  and  protection,  the  freshness  of  its  perfumed  gales, 
the  quiet  of  its  seclusion,  and  its  many  pleasant  accom- 
paniments of  birds,  fruits,  and  flowers.  We  do  not  learn 
by  tuition  to  appreciate  these  objects ;  they  are  adapted 
not  only  to  our  native  wants,  but  they  are  the  real  cause 
of  many  of  the  poetic  thoughts  and  images  that  abound 
in  all  literature.  We  feel,  while  rambling  under  these 
lofty  trees,  and  over  this  carpet  of  leaves  and  mosses, 
that  nothing  which  art  has  accomplished  will  compare 
with  the  primitive  works  of  nature.  There  is  no  archi- 
tecture so  sublime  as  that  of  a  forest ;  there  are  no  gardens 
like  the  little  paradises  to  be  found  here,  wherever  accident 
has  left  a  dell  or  a  dingle  open  to  the  sun ;  there  is  no 
music  like  that  of  its  solitary  birds  ;  no  worship  so  sin- 
cere as  in  these  temples  ;  no  cloistered  solitude  so  sweet 
as  under  these  shadowy  boughs. 

Yet  how  much  greater  are  the  charms  of  a  natural 
wood  if  it  be  intersected  by  wood-paths  !  When  a  farmer 
makes  a  passage  for  his  wagon  through  a  forest,  he  oper- 
ates without  artistic  design,  and  his  work  harmonizes  with 
nature.  He  thinks  only  of  facilitating  progress  through 
his  territory ;  for  though  he  may  be  alive  to  all  pleasant 
rural  sights  and  sounds,  he  cannot  pause  from  his  labors 
to  do  anything  for  mere  embellishment.  He  is  governed 
only  by  his  ideas  of  utility  and  convenience.  Yet  the 
works  of  decorative  art  are  tame  and  prosaic  by  the  side 


286  WOOD-PATHS. 

of  this  rude  pathway,  which  has  expelled  no  wild  plant 
from  its  habitats,  nor  a  single  forest  warbler  from  its 
retreats.  We  experience  within  it  a  true  sensation  of 
nature,  with  a  pleasant  reminder  of  simple  rural  life.  It 
is  hallowed  by  its  humble  purpose  of  utility,  by  its  free- 
dom from  artifice,  by  its  perfect  submission  to  the  care 
of  nature  and  chance,  by  its  beauty  without  adornment. 

The  wood-path  becomes  henceforth  an  avenue  to  all  the 
delights  of  the  season.  It  introduces  us  to  the  produc- 
tions of  the  forest  in  their  most  interesting  condition. 
The  trees  that  spread  their  branches  overhead  shelter  it 
from  cold  and  heat,  and  permit  thousands  of  beautiful 
shrubs  to  grow  there  that  would  be  fatally  crowded  in  the 
dense  parts  of  the  wood.  Multitudes  of  flowers  appear 
continually  in  its  borders,  one  host  following  another  in 
glowing  succession,  and  looking  upon  us  in  our  journey 
as  with  the  eyes  of  so  many  little  sentinels  of  light  and 
beauty  placed  here  to  make  the  scene  delightful  to  the 
sense  and  the  imagination.  like  birds  that  multiply 
around  a  human  dwelling  in  the  wilderness,  flowers  al- 
ways become  numerous  in  these  woodland  paths,  and 
consecrate  them  to  nature. 

There  is  nothing  here  to  call  up  any  disagreeable  ideas 
of  pride  and  pretence,  or  to  excite  envy  by  the  ostenta- 
tious parade  of  wealth.  Nature  never  insults  the  most 
humble  person  who  enters  her  sacred  precincts.  The  rich 
and  the  poor,  the  learned  and  the  unlearned,  if  they  have 
any  love  of  truth  and  beauty,  are  equally  pleased  and  in- 
structed They  surrender  their  hearts  to  the  simplicity 
of  the  scenes  around  them,  forget  the  cares  that  per- 
plex their  minds,  and  find  pleasure  in  every  object  they 
meet.  Here  are  both  freedom  and  seclusion ;  for  though 
every  foot  of  knd  has  an  owner,  no  invidious  signs  of 
appropriation  are  made  apparent  to  the  pilgrim  of  these 
walks.  Everything  has  grown  up  without  culture ;  for 


WOOD-PATHS.  287 

these  wildings  are  the  flowers  that  Nature  strewed  at  her 
feet  when  she  first  stepped  out  of  paradise  to  bless  and 
beautify  the  earth.  No  spaded  soil  about  the  roots  of  the 
flowering  shrubs  indicates  their  petted  value  to  some  pro- 
prietor; no  nicely  cut  turf  at  the  borders  of  the  path 
shows  the  exercise  of  the  topiary  art,  and  the  consequent 
exclusion  of  nature  and  freedom. 

The  flowers  that  peep  out  from  this  grassy  path  and  its 
tangled  borders  are  eclipsed  in  splendor  by  the  prouder 
ones  of  the  garden.  They  are  lovely  in  their  wildness 
and  spontaneous  grouping ;  but,  like  the  stars  of  heaven, 
they  affect  the  imagination  more  than  the  sight.  Though 
fashion  may  contemn  their  beauty,  nature  cherishes  and 
preserves  them ;  and  to  a  poetic  eye  they  have  charms 
that  cannot  be  heightened  by  art.  For  everything  that 
blossoms  here,  or  greens  the  turf,  or  jewels  the  trees  and 
shrubbery  with  purple  and  scarlet  fruit,  or  scatters  incense 
in  their  path,  was  present  at  the  bridal  of  the  earth  and 
sky.  The  gales  that  have  always  swept  through  these 
trees  are  familiar  with  their  perfume ;  morning  and  even- 
ing greet  them,  and  are  acquainted  with  their  beauty ;  the 
little  brooks  know  them;  sunshine  and  shadows  have 
played  and  fondled  with  them;  the  wild  bee  has  sipped 
of  their  honey,  and  the  birds  have  nestled  in  their  foliage. 

In  these  fern-embroidered  aisles  and  under  these  foli- 
ated arches,  where  the  birds  have  warbled  ever  since  the 
morning  stars  sung  together,  here  will  we  linger  when 
we  would  worship  in  Nature's  sanctuary,  and  draw  from 
her  an  inspiration  that  will  make  the  scenes  of  earth  as 
delightful  as  those  of  romance.  "We  will  seek  the  wood- 
haunts  of  the  Naiad,  where  she  sits  by  her  fountain,  dis- 
tributing her  favors  to  herb,  tree,  and  flower,  and  among 
these  dripping  dells  we  will  greet  her  as  the  "mother  of 
dews."  We  will  drink  of  her  waters  with  the  thrush  and 
the  wood-pigeon,  and  bear  home  baptismal  drops  from  her 


288  WOOD-PATHS. 

well  in  the  leaf -cups  of  the  sarracenia,  and  incense  from 
her  altar  in  branches  of  eglantine  and  sweet-fern.  We 
will  sit  under  these  wide-spreading  oaks  and  take  our  re- 
past with  the  squirrel,  while  from  the  tall  tree-top  he 
watches  our  motions. 

We  pass,  as  it  were,  in  a  happy  dream,  through  vistas, 
under  tall  trees,  forming  with  their  foliage  and  the  sky  a 
netted  canopy  of  green  and  blue,  where  delicate  aerial 
voices  of  mingled  chirping  and  song  inspire  every  wan- 
derer with  their  own  cheerfulness.  Sometimes  there  is  a 
stillness  almost  sublime ;  in  a  moment  are  awakened  certain 
musical  and  mysterious  sounds  that  fill  the  mind  with 
dim  conceptions  of  something  more  beautiful  still  unseen 
and  unknown ;  then  a  confusion  of  voices  without  dis- 
cord; a  universal  hum,  so  soft  and  so  melodious  that 
every  bird  that  sings  may  be  distinctly  heard  above  it, 
his  voice  made  sweeter  by  this  harmonious  din.  As  we 
view  the  surface  of  some  still  water,  embossed  with  the 
reflection  of  embowering  shrubbery  and  of  the  herbs  that 
fringe  the  border,  the  fountain  seems  to  look  upon  us  with 
distinct  vision  and  to  know  us.  Suddenly  we  are  under 
the  open  sky ;  we  have  been  led  out  of  the  wood  into  the 
retreat  of  the  hare,  who  is  startled  from  her  repose  by  our 
unexpected  intrusion. 

O  happy  path  to  blisses  unknown  in  the  outer  world  ! 
Guide  to  joys  that  revellers  cannot  feel  nor  the  ambitious 
know.  Wherever  there  is  gladness  or  beauty,  or  melody 
of  birds  and  fountains,  or  little  dells  full  of  roses  and 
honeysuckles,  or  dripping  rocks  green  with  velvet  mosses 
and  variegated  lichens,  - —  to  all  this  wood-path  leads  the 
way ;  now  safe  through  copses  of  tangled  green-brier  and 
clematis ;  through  borders  of  roses,  untrained  by  art  and 
not  planted  by  man ;  through  beds  of  raspberries  inter- 
mingled with  ferns,  and  thickets  of  tremulous  aspens 
interwoven  with  sunshine;  then  under  solemn  pines, 


WOOD-PATHS.  289 

opening  into  a  grander  solitude,  where  dwells  perpetual 
twilight,  —  halls  familiar  with  darkness  at  noonday,  and 
visited  only  by  the  rays  of  the  morning  and  evening  sun. 

Everywhere  there  is  a  store  of  essences  on  the  dewy 
air ;  sometimes  a  scent  of  pines,  such  as  a  mild  south- 
wind  at  twilight  will  waft  into  our  windows  from  a  neigh- 
boring grove ;  then  the  perfume  of  oaks,  less  sweet  and 
aromatic,  but  like  that  which  we  may  suppose  to  have 
surrounded  the  oracle  of  Dodona.  Now  a  mild  breeze 
will  waft  us  the  scent  of  strawberry-beds,  bearing  a  mes- 
sage to  the  bee  that  tells  where  the  flowers  have  spread 
their  feast  of  nectar.  At  every  season  the  air  about  these 
paths  is  full  of  sweet  odors,  that  would  communicate  to 
our  senses  the  proximity  of  certain  plants.  Not  a  flower 
appears  that  does  not  give  some  balmy  notice  of  its  pres- 
ence ;  not  a  zephyr  wanders  through  this  avenue  but  with 
wings  laden  as  if  it  had  passed  over  the  plains  of  Araby. 

While  strolling  in -one  of  these  paths,  where  the  ruts 
of  the  wagoner's  wheels  are  hardly  perceptible  along  the 
green  turf,  I  am  affected  with  a  glow  of  pleasure  that  can- 
not be  felt  in  a  nicely  gravelled  walk  through  the  grounds 
of  a  palace.  I  feel  a  sense  of  tranquil  and  poetic  seclu- 
sion here,  that  would  dissolve,  as  by  a  spell,  at  the  least 
appearance  of  ornamental  design.  It  is  difficult  to  ex- 
plain the  philosophy  of  this  sentiment.  But  Nature, 
whose  works  perfectly  harmonize  with  the  rude  wood- 
path  and  the  artless  operations  of  rustic  toil,  refuses  her 
blessing  to  the  nicely  trimmed  avenue  and  the  ambitious 
designs  of  wealth  and  pride.  In  a  gravelled  walk  through 
a  lordly  estate  there  is  neither  seclusion  nor  repose;  in 
the  pathless  wood,  seclusion  soon  becomes  painful  soli- 
tude ;  but  in  the  unadorned  wood-path  is  sweet  retirement, 
while  an  endless  maze  of  verdure  and  flowers  renders  the 
solitude  charming. 

Though  the  wood-path  does  not  glow  with  the  splendor 

13  8 


290  WOOD-PATHS. 

and  prodigality  of  a  parterre,  there  is  a  never-ending 
variety  of  objects  to  enliven  the  senses  and  the  imagina- 
tion. Here  are  sweet  violets  dotting  the  greensward  with 
heaven's  own  azure ;  roses  that  breathe  into  the  atmos- 
phere the  very  aroma  of  purity ;  vines  that  throw  their 
drapery  over  branches  that  form  our  canopy,  making  the 
,  air  ambrosial  with  their  fragrant  blossoms  in  summer,  and 
tempting  our  sight  with  their  purple  clusters  in  autumn. 
Here  are  mossy  couches  so  soft,  so  beautiful,  so  hallowed, 
that  the  young  maiden  who  should  sit  upon  them  becomes 
a  goddess ;  and  the  student  of  nature  turned  pilgrim  here 
would  worship  her  with  more  devotion  than  he  yields  to 
science. 

Take  her,  thou  young  enthusiast,  and  make  her  the 
dryad  of  this  wood.  Lead  her  up  this  rustic  avenue, 
where  violets  will  breathe  out  their  grateful  odors  to  the 
pressure  of  her  maiden  feet.  Seat  her  in  the  shade  of  a 
draidical  oak,  and  fill  her  lap  with  roses,  which  are  the 
symbols  of  love,  and  with  the  flowers  of  the  blue  myosotis, 
sacred  to  remembrance.  Bind  her  forehead  with  arbutus, 
as  unfading  as  amaranth,  and  bring  for  her  repast  straw- 
berries that  cluster  about  these  daisied  grounds.  Then 
will  you  feel  that  mankind  are  unhappy  only  as  they 
wander  from  the  simplicity  of  nature ;  and  that  we  may 
regain  our  lost  paradise  as  soon  as  we  have  learned  to  love 
nature  more  than  art,  and  the  heaven  of  such  a  place  as 
this  more  than  the  world  of  cities  and  palaces. 


THE  MAPLE. 

IN  New  England  and  the  adjoining  States,  the  maples 
are  among  the  most  conspicuous  and  important  families 
of  our  indigenous  trees.  Their  wood  is  used  for  various 
purposes  in  the  arts,  and  their  product  of  sugar  is  of 
incalculable  value.  Two  of  the  European  maples  are 
cultivated  here,  distinguished  from  the  American  species 
by  their  larger  leaves  and  flowers  and  their  darker  ver- 
dure. I  prefer  the  latter,  because  they  have  a  smaller 
leaf,  and  consequently  a  more  lively  and  airy  appear- 
ance, and  because  they  are  more  beautiful  in  autumn. 

Besides  the  three  most  remarkable  species  in  our  native 
woods,  there  are  several  smaller  maples  in  New  England, 
not  rising  much  above  the  height  of  shrubs,  but  distin- 
guished by  their  elegance  and  beauty.  One  of  the  most 
common  of  these  is  the  Striped  Maple,  sometimes  called 
Moosewood.  It  is  a  tree  of  singular  grace  and  beauty, 
and  in  Maine  and  New  Hampshire  it  is  abundant,  inter- 
mixed with  the  undergrowth  of  the  forest.  It  is  one  of 
the  earliest  trees  in  putting  forth  its  flowers.  The  leaves 
are  large,  broad,  not  deeply  cleft,  and  finely  variegated 
in  their  tints  in  autumn.  The  protection  of  the  forest 
seems  needful  to  this  tree,  for  it  is  seldom  found  among 
the  border  shrubbery  of  fields  and  waysides.  Mr.  Emer- 
son thinks  it  deserving  of  cultivation.  "  I  have  found  it," 
he  remarks,  "  growing  naturally  twenty-five  feet  high,  and 
nineteen  or  twenty  inches  in  circumference ;  and  Mr. 
Brown,  of  Eichmond,  tells  me  he  has  known  it  to  attain 
the  height  of  twenty-five  feet.  It  well  deserves  careful 


292  THE  MAPLE. 

cultivation.  The  striking,  striated  appearance  of  the 
trunk  at  all  times,  the  delicate  rose-color  of  the  buds  and 
leaves  on  opening,  and  the  beauty  of  the  ample  foliage 
afterwards,  the  graceful  pendulous  racemes  of  flowers, 
succeeded  by  large  showy  keys  not  unlike  a  cluster  of 
insects,  will  sufficiently  recommend  it.  In  France,  Mi- 
chaux  says  it  has  been  increased  to  four  times  its  natural 
size  by  grafting  on  the  sycamore." 

The  Mountain  Maple  is  another  small  and  elegant 
species  of  similar  habits  to  those  of  the  Moosewood, 
being  almost  entirely  confined  to  the  forest,  variegated 
with  red  and  purple  tints  in  autumn.  If  it  is  ever  seen 
by  the  roadside,  it  is  only  when  the  road  is  bordered  by 
the  forest. 

THE  SUGAR  MAPLE. 

The  Eock  Maple  is  distinguished  from  the  red  maple 
by  its  larger  leaves,  which  are  entire  at  the  margin,  and 
not  serrate,  having  generally  three  lobes,  sometimes  five, 
separated  by  a  smooth  sinus  instead  of  a  notch.  The 
flowers  are  greenish,  and  come  out  at  the  same  time  with 
the  foliage.  This  tree  is  larger  than  any  of  the  other 
species,  it  has  a  more  vigorous  growth,  and  affords  a 
denser  shade,  but  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  them  when 
divested  of  their  leaves.  It  is  the  most  abundant  species 
in  all  the  North-eastern  States,  including  the  British  Prov- 
inces, where  it  serves  more  than  any  other  tree,  except  the 
white  pine,  to  give  character  to  the  wood-scenery.  It  is 
rare  in  Eastern  Massachusetts,  and  is  not  found  below 
this  latitude,  except  among  the  Alleghanies. 

Dr.  Eush,  speaking  of  this  tree,  remarks :  "  These  trees 
are  generally  found  mixed  with  the  beech,  hemlock,  ash, 
linden,  aspen,  butternut,  and  wild-cherry  trees.  They 
sometimes  appear  in  groves,  covering  five  or  six  acres  in 
a  body;  but  they  are  more  commonly  interspersed  with 


THE  MAPLE.  293 

some  or  all  of  the  forest  trees  above  mentioned.  From 
thirty  to  fifty  trees  are  generally  found  upon  an  acre  of 
land."  Major  Strickland  says  of  it:  "The  Sugar  Maple 
is  probably  the  most  common  tree  among  the  hard-wood 
species  of  Canada  West.  It  is  found  generally  in  groves 
of  from  five  to  twenty  acres  ;  these  are  called  by  the 
settlers  sugar-bushes,  and  few  farms  are  without  them." 

Though  I  consider  the  red  maple  a  more  beautiful 
tree,  having  more  variety  in  its  ramification,  and  a 
greater  range  of  hues  in  its  autumnal  dress,  than  the 
Eock  Maple,  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  latter  sur- 
passes it  in  some  important  qualities.  The  Eock  Maple 
has  a  deeper  green  foliage  in  summer,  and  is  generally 
more  brilliant  in  its  autumnal  tints,  which,  on  account  of 
the  tenacity  of  its  foliage,  last  from  a  week  to  ten  days 
after  the  red  maple  has  dropped  all  its  leaves. 

THE  RIVER  MAPLE. 

By  far  the  most  graceful  tree  of  this  genus  is  the  Eiver 
Maple,  to  which  the  cockneyish  epithet  of  "silver"  is 
applied,  from  the  whitish  under  surface  of  its  leaves.  It 
is  not  found  in  the  woods  near  Boston,  but  is  a  favorite 
shade-tree  in  all  parts  of  New  England.  It  abounds  in 
the  Connecticut  Valley  and  on  the  banks  of  some  of  the 
rivers  in  Maine.  It  is  rather  slender  in  its  habit,  with 
very  long  branches,  that  droop  considerably  in  old  and 
full-grown  trees.  The  foliage  of  this  tree  is  dull  and 
whitish,  but  it  hangs  so  loosely  as  to  add  grace  to  the 
flowing  negligence  of  its  long  slender  branches.  The 
leaves  are  very  deeply  cleft,  like  those  of  the  scarlet  oak, 
so  that  at  a  considerable  distance  they  resemble  fringe ; 
but  they  are  seldom  very  highly  tinted  in  autumn. 


THE  DAEK  PLAINS 

CONTAINING   MY    FIRST    IMPRESSIONS    OF    A    FOREST. 

IN  our  early  days,  when  all  the  scenes  about  us  are  full 
of  mysteries,  and  even  the  adjoining  country  is  an  un- 
explored region,  we  feel  the  liveliest  impressions  from 
nature  and  our  own  imagination.  Those  who  pass  their 
childhood  in  the  woods,  and  become  acquainted  with  their 
inconveniences  and  their  dangers,  learn  to  regard  them  as 
something  to  be  avoided.  The  Western  pioneer  destroys 
immense  tracts  of  forest  to  make  room  for  agricul- 
ture and  space  for  his  buildings.  The  inhabitant  of  the 
town,  on  the  contrary,  sees  the  woods  only  on  occasional 
visits,  for  pleasure  or  recreation,  and  acquires  a  romantic 
affection  for  them  and  their  scenes,  unfelt  by  the  son  of 
the  pioneer  or  the  forester.  The  earliest  period  of  my  life 
was  passed  in  a  village  some  miles  distant  from  an  exten- 
sive wood,  which  was  associated  in  my  mind  with  many 
interesting  objects,  from  the  infrequency  of  my  visits. 
It  was  at  a  very  early  age,  and  when  I  first  began  to 
feel  some  interest  in  natural  objects  beyond  my  own 
home,  that  I  heard  my  mother  describe  the  "  Dark  Plains," 
a  spacious  tract  of  sandy  country,  covered  with  a  primi- 
tive growth  of  pines  and  hemlocks,  such  as  are  now  seen 
only  in  the  solitudes  of  Canada  and  the  northern  part  of 
Maine. 

The  very  name  of  this  wooded  region  is  highly  signifi- 
cant and  poetical,  and  far  removed  from  the  disagreeable 
character  of  names  vulgarly  given  to  remarkable  places. 
What  eccentric  person,  among  the  unpoetic  society  of 


THE  DAKK  PLAINS.  295 

Puritans  and  pedlers,  could  have  felt  sufficient  reverence 
for  Nature-  to  apply  to  one  of  her  scenes  a  name  that 
should  not  either  degrade  it  or  make  it  ridiculous  !  The 
very  sound  of  this  name  sanctifies  the  place  to  our 
imagination;  and  it  is  one  of  the  very  few  applied  to 
natural  objects,  if  the  original  Indian  appellation  has  been 
lost,  that  is  not  either  vulgar  or  silly.  Nothing  can  be 
more  solemn  or  suggestive,  nothing  more  poetical  or  im- 
pressive, than  the  name  of  this  remarkable  forest. 

I  attached  a  singular  mystery  to  this  region  of  Dark 
Plains.  When  I  first  heard  the  words  spoken,  they 
brought  to  mind  all  that  I  have  since  found  so  delightful 
in  the  green  solitudes  of  nature,  —  their  twilight  at  noon- 
day ;  their  dark  sombre  boughs  and  foliage,  full  of  sweet 
sounds  from  unknown  birds,  whose  voices  are  never  heard 
in  the  garden  and  orchard;  the  indistinct  moaning  of 
winds  among  their  lofty  branches,  like  a  storm  brewing 
in  the  distant  horizon,  sublime  from  its  seeming  distance 
and  indistinctness,  though  not  loud  enough  to  disturb  the 
melody  of  thrushes  and  sylvias.  All  these  things  had 
been  described  to  me  by  her  to  whom  I  looked,  in  that 
early  time  of  life,  for  all  knowledge  and  the  solution  of 
all  mysteries.  I  had  never  visited  a  wood  of  great  ex- 
tent, and  the  Dark  Plains  presented  to  my  imagination  a 
thousand  indefinable  ideas  of  beauty  and  grandeur. 

It  has  often  been  said  that  the  style  of  the  interior 
arches  of  a  Gothic  cathedral  was  indicated  by  the  inter- 
lacing and  overarching  boughs  of  the  trees  as  they  meet 
over  our  heads  in  a  path  through  the  woods.  I  think 
also  that  the  solemnity  of  its  dark  halls  and  recesses, 
caused  by  the  multiplicity  of  arches  and  the  pillars  that 
support  them,  closely  resembles  that  of  the  interior  of  a 
forest ;  and  that  the  genius  of  the  original  architect  must 
have  been  inspired  by  the  contemplation  of  those  grand 
woods  that  pervaded  the  greater  part  of  Europe  in  the 


296  THE  DABK  PLAINS. 

Middle  Ages.  The  solemn  services  of  the  Eoman  Cath- 
olic religion  found  a  people  whose  imagination  having 
been  stimulated  by  their  druidical  rites  looked  upon  these 
wonderful  temples  as  transcending  nature  in  grandeur ; 
and  they  bowed  before  the  Cross  with  still  greater  devo- 
tion than  they  had  felt  when  they  made  sacrifices  under 
the  oak. 

There  is  an  indefinable  charm  in  a  deep  wood,  even 
before  we  have  learned  enough  to  people  it  with  nymphs 
and  dryads  and  other  mythical  beings.  Groups  of  trees 
that  invite  us  to  their  shade  and  shelter,  in  our  childhood, 
on  a  sultry  summer  noon,  yield  us  a  foretaste  of  their 
sensible  comfort ;  and  a  fragment  of  wild  wood,  if  we  see 
nothing  more  spacious,  with  its  cawing  crows,  its  scream- 
ing jays,  and  its  few  wild  quadrupeds,  gives  us  some 
conception  of  the  immensity  of  a  pathless  forest  that 
never  yet  resounded  with  the  woodman's  axe.  I  was 
already  familiar  with  these  vestiges  of  nature's  greatness, 
enough  to  inspire  ma  with  feelings  that  do  not  become 
very  definite  until  the  mind  is  matured. 

The  time  had  come  at  last  when  I  was  to  visit  one  of 
these  solemn  temples  of  the  gods.  I  was  between  eight 
and  nine  years  of  age,  and  was  to  accompany  my  parents 
on  a  journey  from  Beverly  to  Concord,  my  mother's  native 
town,  in  New  Hampshire.  I  give  this  narrative  of  per- 
sonal experience,  to  prove  that  our  love  of  nature  is  an 
innate  feeling,  which  is  exalted,  but  not  created,  by  the 
imagination.  Nothing  ever  occupied  my  mind  so  in- 
tensely as  the  thought  of  visiting  these  Dark  Plains. 
Other  objects  seen  on  our  journey  were  amusing  and  at- 
tractive ;  but  this  wood  was  the  only  one  that  excited 
in  me  a  passionate  interest.  All  my  thoughts  were  obscure 
and  indefinite,  associated  with  some  dreary  conceptions  of 
beauty  and  grandeur;  for  in  our  early  years  we  aspire 
after  more  exalted  feelings  than  the  common  scenes  of 
Nature  can  awaken. 


THE  DARK  PLAINS.  297 

When  at  length  we  entered  upon  the  road  that  led  through 
this  forest,  the  sweetest  music  had  never  held  me  so  com- 
pletely entranced  as  when  I  looked  up  to  these  lofty  trees, 
extending  their  branches  beyond  my  ken,  with  foliage 
too  dense  for  the  sun  to  penetrate,  and  all  the  mysterious 
accompaniments  of  the  wood,  its  silence  and  darkness, 
its  meanings  and  its  echoes.  I  watched  the  scenes  as  we 
rode  slowly  by  them,  —  the  immense  pillars  that  rose  out 
of  a  level  plain,  strewed  with  brown  foliage,  and  interspersed 
with  a  few  bushes  and  straggling  vines ;  the  dark  sum- 
mits of  the  white  pines  that  rose  above  the  round  heads 
of  the  other  species  which  were  the  prevailing  timber; 
the  twilight  that  pervaded  these  woods  even  at  high  noon ; 
and  I  thought  of  their  seemingly  boundless  extent,  of 
their  mysterious  solitude,  and  their  unspeakable  beauty. 
Certain  religious  enthusiasts  speak  of  a  precise  moment 
when  they  feel  a  certain  change  that  places  them  in 
communication  with  Heaven.  If  one  is  ever  in  a  similar 
manner  baptized  with  the  love  of  nature,  it  was  at  this 
moment  I  felt  that  hidden  influence  which,  like  the  first 
emotion  of  love,  binds  the  heart  with  an  unceasing  de- 
votion. 

I  did  not  at  this  early  age  examine  individual  objects. 
Yet  now  and  then  the  note  of  some  solitary  bird,  or  the 
motions  of  a  squirrel  on  the  outer  trees  of  the  wood,  held 
my  attention  while  I  was  absorbed  in  a  revery  of  delight. 
An  occasional  clearing,  containing  a  cottage  with  its 
rustic  appendages,  opened  the  sunshine  into  our  path, 
and  made  the  wood  cheerful  by  this  pleasant  contrast. 
When  at  length  we  emerged  from  this  gloomy  region  into 
the  brightness  and  cheerfulness  of  the  open  country,  I 
still  dwelt  upon  the  quiet  grandeur  of  its  solitudes,  and 
have  never  forgotten  the  impressions  I  had  received  from 
them,  nor  the  passionate  interest  awakened  in  me  before 
my  journey. 

13* 


298  THE  DARK  PLAINS. 

About  thirty  years  afterwards  I  revisited  this  wood, 
and  traversed  the  greater  part  of  it,  accompanied  by  an 
old  friend  of  the  generation  that  had  passed  before 
me.  From  him  I  learned  that  the  original  growth  of 
timber  had  been  mostly  felled,  and  a  second  growth  of 
inferior  height  and  dimensions  occupied  its  place.  He 
pointed  out  to  me  how  the  whole  character  of  the  wood 
was  changed  by  the  simple  act  of  felling  the  primitive 
trees.  The  ground  was  not  so  wet  as  formerly ;  the 
standing  waters  did  not  occupy  so  wide  a  space ;  the 
forest  contained  more  openings,  the  barren  elevations  not 
having  been  supplied  with  a  new  growth  of  trees.  In 
the  place  of  them  were  a  few  scrub  oaks,  some  whortle- 
berry-bushes, and  other  native  shrubs ;  the  trees  were 
smaller,  and  there  was  a  greater  predominance  of  pitch- 
pine  in  all  the  more  sandy  parts  of  the  tract,  and  nu- 
merous white  birches  had  sprung  up  among  them. 

"  Such  is  the  change,"  he  remarked,  "  which  is  gradually 
taking  place  over  the  whole  continent."  He  seemed  to 
regret  this  change,  and  thought  the  progress  of  the  civil- 
ized arts,  though  it  rendered  necessary  the  clearing  of  the 
greater  part  of  the  wooded  country,  ought  not  to  be  at- 
tended with  such  universal  devastation.  Some  spacious 
wood  ought  to  remain,  in  every  region,  in  which  the  wild 
animals  would  be  protected,  and  where  we  might  view  the 
grounds  as  they  appeared  when  the  wild  Indian  was  lord 
of  this  continent.  Even  at  that  time  I  found  some  acres 
of  forest  which  had  been  unmolested  still  retaining  those 
grand,  wild,  and  rugged  features  that  entitled  the  region 
to  the  poetic  name  of  Dark  Plains. 


THE   EED  MAPLE. 

NOT  dainty  of  its  soil,  but  thriving  equally  well  in  a  bog 
or  upon  a  fertile  river-bank,  by  the  side  of  a  stream  or 
upon  a  dry  eminence ;  coming  forth  in  the  spring,  like 
morning  in  the  east,  arrayed  in  crimson  and  purple ; 
bearing  itself  not  proudly,  but  gracefully,  in  modest  green, 
among  the  more  stately  trees  in  summer ;  and,  ere  it  bids 
adieu  to  the  season,  stepping  forth  in  robes  of  gold,  ver- 
milion, crimson,  and  variegated  scarlet,  stands  the  queen 
of  the  American  forest,  the  pride  of  all  eyes  and  the 
delight  of  every  picturesque  observer  of  nature,  —  the 
Red  Maple.  There  are  but  few  trees  that  surpass  it 
in  general  beauty  of  form  and  proportion,  and  in  the 
variety  and  splendor  of  its  autumnal  tints  it  is  not 
equalled  by  any  known  tree.  Without  this  species,  the 
American  forest  would  hardly  be  distinguished  from  that 
of  Europe  by  any  superiority  of  tinting.  It  stands  among 
the  occupants  of  the  forest  like  Venus  among  the  planets, 
the  brightest  in  the  midst  of  brightness,  and  the  most 
beautiful  in  a  constellation  of  beauty. 

The  Eed  Maple  is  a  tree  of  second  magnitude,  very 
comely  at  all  periods  of  its  growth,  producing  many 
branches,  forming  a  somewhat  pyramidal  top  while 
young,  but  expanding  into  a  round  head  as  it  grows  old. 
It  is  very  evenly  subdivided,  the  central  shaft  seldom 
being  distinguished  above  the  lower  junction  of  its  prin- 
cipal branches.  The  leaves  are  palmate,  of  rather  a  pale 
green,  and  the  spray,  though  neat  and  elegant,  does  not 
equal  that  of  the  lime  or  the  birch.  We  associate  this  tree 


300  THE  RED   MAPLE. 

with  the  valleys  and  lowlands,  but  a  wet  soil  is  not 
necessary  for  its  prosperity.  Some  of  the  finest  single 
trees  I  have  known  were  standing  upon  a  dry  soil ;  but  a 
forest  of  them  is  always  located  in  a  swamp. 

The  Red  Maple  is  one  of  the  most  common  trees  in 
the  southern  parts  of  New  England,  and  it  occupies  a  very 
wide  geographical  range.  In  the  North  it  first  appears 
in  the  latitude  of  Quebec.  It  seems  to  avoid  the  com- 
pany of  the  rock  maple,  and  forms  no  large  assemblages 
above  the  northern  boundary  of  Massachusetts,  below 
which  the  kindred  species  becomes  rare  in  New  England. 
The  Eed  Maple  is  abundant  in  all  the  Atlantic  States,  as 
far  as  Florida,  and  there  is  no  other  tree  that  occupies  so 
large  a  proportion  of  the  wet  lands  in  the  Middle  States. 
According  to  Michaux,  it  is  the  last  tree  which  is  found 
in  swamps,  as  we  approach  the  boundary  of  vegetation. 

Preference  is  generally  given  to  the  other  two  species 
for  planting  by  waysides  and  in  pleasure  grounds  in  Mas- 
sachusetts, because  they  are  more  luxuriant  in  their  growth. 
Perhaps  they  are  chosen  for  the  sake  of  variety,  being 
less  common  in  the  woods  of  this  State  than  the  Eed 
Maple  ;  and  being  planted  from  nurseries,  and  costly,  they 
are  found  chiefly  in  dressed  grounds.  But  the  Eed  Ma- 
ple is  far  more  interesting  and  beautiful  than  any  other 
species,  and  its  lighter  foliage,  more  airy  habit,  and  more 
delicate  spray  bring  it  into  better  harmony  with  wild  and 
rude  scenery,  as  the  paler  and  less  luxuriant  wild  flowers 
better  adorn  a  wood-path  than  the  more  showy  denizens 
of  the  garden.  The  Eed  Maple  bears  a  profusion  of  crim- 
son flowers  in  the  spring,  and  from  them  it  derives  its 
name.  When  the  flowers  have  dropped  their  petals,  the 
keys,  or  fruit-pods,  that  succeed  them,  retain  the  same 
crimson  hue  for  some  days,  gradually  fading  into  brown 
as  they  mature. 


SECLUSION   AND   FREEDOM.  303 

ings,  nor  intensify  them;  it  cherishes  a  train  of  poetic 
thoughts,  and  gives  a  softer  character  to  our  sorrows.  I 
believe  we  never  visit  unadorned  Nature  without  gaining 
some  impressions  from  her  scenery  that  serve  to  magnify 
our  happiness.  In  the  secluded  scenes  of  the  outer  world 
it  is  not  solitude  we  seek,  but  a  sequestration  from  all 
that  is  wearisome  and  offensive ;  and  while  surrounded 
by  them,  our  sensation  of  freedom  exalts,  as  much  as  that 
of  solitude  composes,  the  mind. 

It  is  the  sentiment  of  freedom  that  causes  the  pleasure 
with  which  we  look  upon  fields  unenclosed  and  roads  not 
bounded  by  a  fence,  but  admitting  free  access  to  woods 
and  grounds  on  either  side,  that  seem  to  invite  us  to  en- 
ter. We  dislike  any  manifest  signs  of  the  appropriation 
of  earth's  green  surface.  Landscape-gardeners  dwell  with 
singular  complacency  upon  the  idea  of  "  appropriation," 
on  account  of  the  lordly  sense  of  personal  grandeur  with 
which  its  evidences  inspire  the  owner.  They  afford  a 
rich  man  a  proud  consciousness  of  his  own  dignity,  by 
showing  him  the  greatness  of  his  possessions.  This  is 
one  of  the  principles  of  landscape-gardening  which  is 
based,  not  on  a  sentiment  of  nature,  but  'of  pride,  selfish- 
ness, and  exclusiveness.  The  expression  wrought  into 
landscape  by  such  artifice  indicates  the  stolid  feeling  of 
an  aristocrat,  not  the  sensibility  of  a  painter  or  a  poet. 
The  effects  of  working  on  this  principle  when  improving 
landscape  are  offensive  to  those  who  would  see  this  earth 
open  to  the  enjoyment  of  all  rational  beings. 

We  know  that  all  the  lands,  and  the  trees  and  shrub- 
bery that  grow  upon  them,  are  the  property  of  some  legal 
owner ;  but  we  dislike  to  see  the  evidence  of  this  paraded 
before  our  sight  by  certain  artifices  designed  for  this  very 
purpose.  If  a  number  of  rustic  yeomen  and  laborers  are 
the  owners,  who  are  content  to  leave  them  without  any 
ostentatious  marks  of  their  ownership,  we  feel,  when  ram- 


304  SECLUSION  AND  FREEDOM. 

bling  in  their  grounds,  the  freedom  of  forest  life.  In 
a  landscape  we  would  behold  a  great  deal  of  pasture,  of 
forest,  and  homely  tillage,  and  but  a  small  proportion  of 
ornamented  ground.  We  perceive  the  need  of  fences,  and 
we  can  easily  regard  them  as  objects  of  beauty,  if  de- 
signed for  convenience,  and  not  for  show.  Dressed 
grounds  not  only  exclude  man,  they  also  banish  the  wild 
animals  and  birds  by  their  nice  grading  and  clearing,  and 
in  direct  proportion  to  their  extent  do  they  destroy  the 
open  expression  of  freedom  in  landscape. 

The  very  words  employed  to  designate  the  different 
kinds  of  ground  have  a  poetic  or  prosaic  expression,  ac- 
cording as  the  ideas  of  freedom  and  seclusion,  or  the 
opposite  ones  of  restraint  and  exclusiveness,  are  presented 
by  them.  What  mind  is  not  agreeably  affected  by  the 
word  "prairie,"  with  its  magnificent  space  and  unre- 
strained journeys,  its  openness  and  gladness,  its  grandeur 
and  its  solitude  ?  The  words  "  glen  "  and  "  valley,"  "  for- 
est" and  "mountain,"  "field"  and  "pasture,"  all  awaken 
images  of  Pierian  freshness  and  beauty.  The  word  "  park," 
on  the  contrary,  savors  less  of  nature  than  of  the  city, 
less  of  beauty  than  of  decoration,  less  of  romance  and 
poetry  than  of  taste  and  artifice;  very  delightful  in  a 
city,  with  its  marble  edifices  and  paved  avenues,  but  in 
the  country  like  a  daub  of  paint  on  the  cheek  of  an 
infant. 


THE  WHITE  BIECH. 

ON  the  sandy  plains  of  many  parts  of  New  England, 
some  of  the  most  prominent  objects  are  coppices  of 
slender  White  Birch  trees,  intermingled  with  pitch-pine. 
These  trees  are  seldom  more  than  four  or  five  inches  in 
diameter,  rising  to  the  height  of  about  twenty  feet,  with 
a  grayish-white  trunk,  and,  as  may  be  observed  in  win- 
ter, a  dense  and  dark-colored  spray.  This  species  is 
called  Poplar  Birch,  from  the  tremulous  habit  of  the 
foliage,  but  is  never  assembled  in  large  forest  groups. 
Like  the  alder,  it  is  employed  by  Nature  for  the  shading 
of  her  living  pictures,  and  for  producing  those  gradations 
which  are  the  charm  of  spontaneous  wood-scenery.  In 
all  the  Northern  States,  a  pitch-pine  wood  is  generally 
fringed  with  White  Birches,  and  outside  of  them  is  a  still 
more  humble  growth  of  hazels,  cornels,  and  vacciniums, 
uniting  them  imperceptibly  with  the  herbage  of  the  plain. 

The  White  Birch  is  remarkable  for  its  elegance.  It 
seldom  divides  the  main  stem,  which  extends  to  the  summit 
of  the  tree,  giving  out  from  all  parts  numerous  slender 
branches,  forming  a  very  neat  and  beautiful  spray,  of  a 
dark  chocolate-color,  contrasting  finely  with  the  white- 
ness of  the  trunk.  This  tree,  when  growing  as  a  standard, 
has  more  of  a  pyramidal  shape  than  in  a  wood ;  but  it 
does  not  attain  in  this  country  the  magnitude  of  the 
same  species  in  Europe.  The  durability  of  the  bark  of 
the  White  Birch  is  said  to  be  unsurpassed  by  that  of  any 
other  vegetable  substance.  Selby  records  a  fact  related 
by  Du  Hamel,  which  is  remarkable.  In  the  ruins  of 


306  THE  WHITE   BIRCH. 

Dworotrkoi,  in  Siberia,  a  piece  of  birch  wood  was  found 
changed  into  stone,  while  the  outer  bark,  white  and  shin- 
ing, remained  in  its  natural  state. 

So  many  of  the  most  delightful  scenes  of  nature  are 
in  my  own  mind  allied  with  the  different  birches,  that 
there  is  not  one  that  does  not  immediately  call  up  some 
charming  scenery  and  impress  my  mind  with  pleasant 
memories.  He  who  in  his  early  days  was  a  rambler  in 
the  woods  is  familiar  with  the  White  Birch  trees.  They 
have  shaded  him  in  his  sylvan  researches  and  his  solitary 
musings,  his  social  walks  in  quest  of  flowers  with  the  sex 
for  whom  the  flowers  seemed  to  be  created,  or  with  his 
male  companions  in  pursuit  of  game.  "When  journeying, 
these  graceful  trees,  in  company  with  the  fragrant  pitch- 
pines,  have  offered  him  their  flickering  shade,  and  along 
the  sandy  plains  have  defended  him  from  the  scorching 
heat  of  the  sun,  and  spread  a  leafy  canopy  over  his  rustic 
path.  In  the  sultry  heat  of  summer  noonday,  I  have 
often  followed  the  course  of  some  humble  cart-path 
through  their  tangled  undergrowth,  gathering  wild  fruits 
from  bush  and  bramble,  or  watching  the  singing-birds 
that  nestled  in  their  boughs  and  blended  their  wild  notes 
with  the  sound  of  the  green  rustling  leaves. 

All  the  birches  are  graceful  trees.  Their  branches  are 
finely  divided,  like  those  of  the  elm  and  the  lime,  and 
many  of  them  incline  to  a  drooping  habit.  There  is  a 
remarkable  airiness  in  their  slender  feathery  spray,  ren- 
dered still  more  lively  in  the  White  Birch  by  its  small 
tremulous  leaves.  This  species  is  found  in  the  highest 
latitude  in  which  any  tree  can  live.  It  is  the  last  de- 
ciduous tree  in  the  northern  boundaries  of  vegetation  in 
America  and  Europe,  before  we  reach  the  Arctic  Circle, 
and  the  last  that  appears  when  we  ascend  high  moun- 
tains, occupying  the  belt  just  below  the  line  of  perpetual 
snow.  It  is  worthy  of  notice  that  the  small  White  Birch 


THE   CANOE  BIKCH.  307 

in  this  country,  though  considered  identical  with  the  White 
Birch  of  Europe,  is  greatly  inferior  to  it  in  size.  In  Amer- 
ica, however,  the  white  canoe  birch,  a  very  similar  species, 
equally  surpasses  the  European  White  Birch.  It  seems  as 
if  the  thrifty  habit  of  the  canoe  birch  had  some  mysterious 
influence  in  dwarfing  the  other  species  in  America. 

THE  CANOE  BIRCH. 

Some  of  the  most  beautiful  assemblages  of  wood  in 
high  latitudes  on  this  continent  consist  of  the  Canoe 
Birch.  It  is  seen  in  Massachusetts  and  Connecticut 
only  in  occasional  groups ;  but  in  the  States  of  Maine 
and  New  Hampshire,  on  the  sandy  river-banks  and 
diluvial  plains,  it  forms  woods  of  great  extent  and  un- 
rivalled beauty.  With  their  tall  shafts  resembling  pil- 
lars of  polished  marble,  supporting  a  canopy  of  bright 
green  foliage,  they  form  one  of  the  picturesque  attractions 
of  a  Northern  tour.  Nature  indicates  the  native  habitat 
of  this  noble  tree  by  causing  its  exterior  to  display  the 
whiteness  of  snow.  The  foliage  of,  the  Canoe  Birch  is  of 
a  very  bright  green,  and  exceeds  that  of  all  the  family 
in  the  depth  of  its  golden  tints  in  autumn.  We  never 
see  in  the  foliage  of  the  birches  any  of  that  glaucous  or 
pea-green  color  so  common  in  the  maples.  The  leaves 
of  the  Canoe  Birch  deviate  from  the  ovate  form  and  ap- 
proach the  heart  shape.  Its  bark  is  almost  purely  white, 
and  attracts  the  attention  of  every  visitor  of  the  woods. 
The  clean  white  shafts  of  a  Canoe  Birch  wood,  towering 
upward  among  the  other  trees  of  the  forest,  present  a 
scene  with  which  nothing  else  is  comparable.  The  uses 
which  have  been  made  of  the  bark  of  this  tree  are  so 
numerous  and  so  familiar  to  all  that  it  would  be  idle  to 
enumerate  them.  Indeed,  it  would  be  difficult  to  estimate 
its  importance  to  the  aboriginal  inhabitants  of  America. 


RELATIONS  OF  TREES  TO  BIRDS  AND  INSECTS. 

"  MY  neighbors,"  said  my  philosophic  friend,  "  are  the 
cause  of  more  than  half  the  injury  my  crops  receive  from 
caterpillars  and  other  insects.  They  will  not  allow  the 
birds  a  harbor  of  wood  and  shrubbery  upon  their  own 
grounds,  and  they  shoot  those  which  I  endeavor  to 
entice  by  offering  them  a  shelter  in  my  farm.  It  is 
strange  they  cannot  understand  the  mischievous  char- 
acter of  their  operations  of  smoothing  and  grubbing. 
That  little  rising  ground  you  see  before  you,  covered 
with  trees  and  shrubs,  is  hardly  more  than  a  bare  rock. 
It  occupies  about  an  eighth  of  an  acre ;  but  no  other  pos- 
sible use  could  be  made  of  it,  except  as  a  quarry.  The 
little  grove,  or  coppice,  that  stands  upon  it,  is  the  most 
beautiful  object  in  sight  from  my  house.  I  have  never 
allowed  it  to  be  disturbed  or  frequented  by  social  as- 
semblages. I  keep  it  sacred  for  the  use  of  the  birds,  and 
it  is  a  perfect  aviary.  The  birds  that  feed  upon  the  de- 
structive insects  that  infest  my  grounds  are  raised  in  that 
temple  of  the  gods,  which  is  watered  by  numerous  little 
springs  that  ooze  from  the  crevices  of  the  rock.  While 
they  are  rearing  their  young,  all  species,  even  if  they  live 
exclusively  upon  seeds  after  they  have  left  their  nest, 
feed  their  offspring  upon  larvae,  which  they  collect 
from  the  nearest  ground  that  affords  them  a  supply. 
Hence  I  consider  that  bare  rock,  with  its  trees  and  shrub- 
bery, the  most  profitable  division  of  my  farm,  from  the 
shelter  it  affords  the  birds,  which  are  in  an  important 
sense  my  most  profitable  stock." 


RELATIONS  OF  TREES  TO  BIRDS  AND  INSECTS.        309 

I  have  often  thought  of  my  neighbor's  remarks,  especial- 
ly when  I  have  observed  the  diligence  of  our  farmers  in 
destroying  upon  their  grounds  every  acceptable  harbor  for 
the  birds.  When  we  are  traversing  a  wood,  if  we  discover 
an  apple-tree  growing  in  a  little  clearing  or  open  space, 
we  find  it  invariably  exempt  from  the  ravages  of  the 
common  apple-borer.  The  same  exemption  is  observed 
in  those  fruit-trees  that  stand  very  near  a  wild  wood,  or 
any  wood  containing  a  spontaneous  undergrowth.  The 
explanation  of  this  fact  is  that  the  wood  affords  a  harbor 
to  the  birds  that  destroy  these  insects  in  all  their  forms. 
Orchards  and  gardens,  on  the  contrary,  which  are  located 
at  any  considerable  distance  from  a  wood,  have  not  this 
security.  Eobins,  it  is  true,  are  very  abundant  in  or- 
chards, which  are  their  breeding-places ;  but  robins,  though 
the  most  useful  birds  that  are  known  to  exist,  take  all 
their  food  from  the  ground.  They  destroy  vast  quantities 
of  cutworms  and  chrysalids  buried  in  the  soil,  but  they 
take  no  part  of  their  insect  food  from  the  trees.  The 
birds  that  perform  this  work  are  the  sylvias,  woodpeckers 
creepers,  and  other  species  that  live  only  in  woods  and 
thickets.  Hence  an  orchard  that  is  nearly  surrounded  by 
a  wild  wood  of  much  extent  is  not  badly  infested  by 
borers  and  other  injurious  insects. 

All  species  of  insects  multiply  in  cultivated  grounds, 
while  the  birds,  with  a  few  exceptions,  that  feed  upon 
them,  can  find  a  nursery  and  protection  only  in  the  woods. 
"  The  locust,"  says  George  P.  Marsh,  "  which  ravages  the 
East  with  its  voracious  armies,  is  bred  in  vast  open 
plains,  which  admit  the  full  heat  of  the  sun  to  hasten 
the  hatching  of  the  eggs,  gather  no  moisture  to  destroy 
them,  and  harbor  no  bird  to  feed  upon  their  larvae.  It  is 
only  since  the  felling  of  the  forests  of  Asia  Minor  and 
Gyrene  that  the  locust  has  become  so  fearfully  destructive 
in  those  countries ;  and  the  grasshopper,  which  now 


310        RELATIONS   OF  TREES  TO   BIRDS  AND   INSECTS. 

threatens  to  be  almost  as  great  a  pest  to  the  agriculture 
of  North  American  soils,  breeds  in  seriously  injurious 
numbers  only  where  a  wide  extent  of  surface  is  bare  of 
woods." 

Some  men  destroy  trees  and  shrubbery  in  their  borders, 
because  they  are  supposed  to  harbor  insects.  But  if  this 
be  true,  it  is  because  they  are  not  sufficient  in  extent 
to  shelter  the  birds  that  feed  upon  them.  The  insects 
that  multiply  upon  our  lands  deposit  their  eggs  some  in 
the  soil,  some  on  the  branches  of  trees  and  upon  fences 
and  buildings.  They  are  nowise  dependent  on  a  wild 
growth  of  wood  and  shrubbery.  These  pests  of  agricul- 
ture need  nothing  better  than  the  under  edge  of  a  clap- 
board or  a  shingle  whereon  to  suspend  their  cocoons  or  lay 
their  eggs.  So  minute  are  the  objects  that  will  afford 
them  all  the  conveniences  they  need,  when  hatching  and 
when  passing  through  all  their  transformations,  till  they 
become  perfect  insects,  that  no  artifice  or  industry  of  man 
can  deprive  them  of  their  nurseries,  or  appreciably  lessen 
their  numbers.  All  inventions  and  appliances  used  to 
rid  the  trees  and  grounds  of  these  pests  never  destroyed 
more  than  one  in  a  million  of  their  whole  number.  It  is 
not  in  the  power  of  man,  with  all  his  science,  unassisted 
by  birds,  to  prevent  the  multiplication  of  insects  from 
being  the  cause  of  his  own  annihilation.  But  the  farmer, 
when  he  destroys  the  border  shrubbery  in  his  fields  and 
the  coppice  and  wood  on  his  hills,  exterminates  the  birds 
by  hosts,  while  the  mischievous  boy  with  his  gun  destroys 
only  a  few  individuals.  The  clipped  hedge-row,  which  is 
often  substituted  for  a  border  of  wild  shrubbery,  may 
assist  in  breeding  insects  ;  but  the  birds  never  build  their 
nests  in  a  hedge-row,  unless  it  be  a  long-neglected  one. 

I  have  in  another  essay  spoken  of  the  scarcity  of  birds 
and  other  animals  in  the  primitive  forest.  They  are  not 
numerous  there,  because  the  forest  would  yield  them  only 


EELATIQNS   OF  TREES   TO   BIRDS  AND   INSECTS.        311 

a  scanty  subsistence.  The  forest  border  is  their  nursery 
and  their  shelter,  but  their  best  feeding-places  are  the 
cultivated  grounds.  There  is  not  a  single  species  whose 
means  of  subsistence  are  not  increased  by  the  clearing  of 
the  forest  and  the  cultivation  of  the  land ;  but  they  re- 
quire a  certain  proportion  of  wild  wood  for  their  habita- 
tion. Very  few  species  build  their  nests  in  the  trees  and 
shrubbery  of  our  gardens,  unless  they  are  near  a  wood. 
In  that  case  the  catbird  often  nestles  in  the  garden, 
that  during  the  rearing  of  its  young  it  may  be  near 
the  grounds  that  produce  larvae.  Most  of  the  wood- 
peckers, the  sylvias,  and  the  small  thrushes,  including 
some  of  our  most  valuable  birds,  cannot  rear  their  young 
except  in  a  wild  wood.  Yet  all  these,  solitary  as  they  are 
in  their  habits,  increase  under  favorable  circumstances 
with  the  multiplication  of  insects  consequent  upon  the 
culture  of  the  soil.  It  may  be  affirmed  as  an  indisputable 
truth,  that  if  their  increase  were  not  checked  by  the  sport- 
ing habits  of  men  and  boys,  and  the  clearing  and  grub- 
bing habits  of  "model  farmers,"  birds  of  every  species 
would  increase  in  the  same  ratio  with  the  multiplication 
of  their  insect  food,  and  proportionally  diminish  their 
ravages. 


THE  BLACK  OR  CHEEKY  BIRCH. 

THE  epithets  "  black,"  "  white,"  "  red,"  and  "  yellow," 
which  are  so  commonly  misapplied  to  certain  trees  for 
specific  distinction,  —  a  misapplication  very  remarkable 
with  reference  to  the  poplar,  —  are  very  well  applied 
to  the  different  species  of  birch,  and  serve  as  intelli- 
gible marks  of  identity.  The  Black  Birch,  for  exam- 
ple, is  clothed  with  a  dark-colored  bark,  which  comes 
nearer  a  pure  black  than  any  other  color.  No  person 
would  dispute  the  color  of  the  white  birches ;  that  of 
the  yellow  birch,  though  not  pure,  would  never  be  mis- 
taken for  anything  but  yellow ;  and  the  bark  of  the  red 
birch,  though  nearly  white,  is  so  thoroughly  stained  with 
red  as  to  demonstrate  the  propriety  of  its  name. 

The  Black  Birch  is  also  named  the  Cherry  Birch,  from 
the  resemblance  of  the  tree  to  the  American  black  cherry. 
Its  inner  bark  has  the  flavor  of  checkerberry,  and  its  wood 
some  of  the  colors  of  mahogany;  and  it  has  received 
names  corresponding  with  these  characters,  such  as  Sweet 
Birch  and  Mahogany  Birch,  and  was  formerly  a  favorite 
material  for  cabinet  furniture.  The  bark  of  this  species 
and  of  the  yellow  birch  has  very  little  of  that  leathery  or 
papyraceous  quality  which  is  so  remarkable  in  that  of  the 
white  birches.  This  species  does  not  extend  so  far  north 
as  the  others,  but  has  a  wider  geographical  range  in  and 
below  the  latitude  of  New  England. 

The  Black  Birch  puts  forth  its  flowers  very  early  in  the 
year,  of  a  deep  yellow  and  purple  and  sensibly  fragrant. 
The  foliage  also  appears  early.  The  leaves  are  finely  ser- 


THE  YELLOW  BIECH.  313 

rate,  oval,  with  conspicuous  veins,  turning  yellow  in  the 
autumn.  Not  one  of  the  birches  ever  shows  a  tint  ap- 
proaching to  red  or  purple  in  its  foliage.  The  Black 
Birch  delights  in  moist  grounds,  and  commonly  occupies 
a  stand  on  mountain  slopes  and  on  the  banks  of  rivers. 
When  growing  singly  on  a  plain,  or  in  an  open  space,  it 
takes  a  hemispherical  shape,  with  its  terminal  and  lower 
branches  drooping  to  some  extent  like  those  of  the  elm. 
This  tree  is  conspicuous  on  craggy  precipices,  among  the 
mountains,  where  it  extends  its  roots  into  the  crevices  of 
the  rocks,  and  spreads  its  branches  over  chasms  and  hol- 
lows. On  these  sites  it  displays  a  variety  of  picturesque 
forms,  corresponding  with  the  rudeness  and  the  wildness 
of  the  scenery  around  it.  Nature  has  furnished  this  tree 
with  a  chaffy  or  winged  seed,  which  is  soon  wafted  and 
sown  by  the  winds  upon  mountain-sides  and  among  inac- 
cessible rocks,  where  the  soil  collected  in  thin  fissures 
supplies  it  with  sustenance. 

THE  YELLOW  BIECH. 

The  Yellow  Birch,  named  excelsa  by  botanists,  from  its 
superior  height,  is  perhaps  the  most  beautiful  of  the  genus. 
Its  branches  are  extremely  numerous,  long  and  slender, 
corresponding  with  the  superior  length  of  its  trunk,  and 
they  are  prone,  like  those  of  the  elm,  to  equality  in 
size,  and  to  divergency  from  nearly  a  common  centre. 
Indeed,  where  this  tree  has  grown  as  an  isolated  standard, 
it  commonly  displays  a  very  symmetrical  head,  differing 
in  form  from  a  perfect  elm  only  by  less  inclination  to 
droop.  The  leaves  of  this  species  have  much  of  the  same 
quality  which  I  have  remarked  as  peculiar  to  the  beech, 
every  leaf  standing  erect  upon  its  stem.  The  flexible  ap- 
pearance of  the  tree  is  derived  entirely  from  its  slender 
flowing  branches. 


314  THE  RED   BIRCH. 

The  Yellow  Birch  is  very  abundant  in  Maine  and  New 
Brunswick,  and  formerly  constituted  the  greater  part  of 
the  wood  which  was  brought  into  Massachusetts  for 
fuel.  Many  of  the  logs  were  of  immense  size  before  the 
primitive  forest  was  removed.  At  the  present  day  we 
seldom  find  one  more  than  eighteen  inches  in  diameter, 
though  many  slender  individuals  still  occupy  our  woods. 
It  delights  in  cold,  damp  soils,  and  I  have  seen  the  finest 
standards  near  springs  on  an  open  hillside.  The  Yellow 
Birch  derives  its  name  from  the  golden  hue  of  the  bark 
that  covers  the  trunk  and  larger  limbs.  This  silken  bark, 
which  is  rolled  into  multitudes  of  soft  ringlets,  is  peculiar 
to  this  tree. 

THE  RED   BIRCH. 

The  Eed  Birch  is  a  rare  species,  and  but  very  little 
known.  By  careless  observers  it  might  be  mistaken  for 
a  white  birch,  the  redness  of  its  bark  seeming  only  a 
departure  from  its  usual  type.  The  only  trees  of  this 
species  I  have  seen  in  Massachusetts  were  in  Andover, 
in  a  swamp  through  which  the  Shawsheen  Kiver  flows. 
If  you  would  behold  this  tree  to  the  best  advantage, 
you  must  follow  the  streams  that  glide  along  the  level 
woodlands  which  are  inundated  a  part  of  the  year.  There 
it  may  be  seen,  like  some  pilgrim  bending  worshipfully 
over  the  stream,  by  whose  beneficent  waters  it  is  sustained 
in  beauty  and  health.  Its  picturesque  attractions,  arising 
from  the  great  variety  of  its  outlines  and  the  peculiar 
wreathing  of  its  foliage  around  the  stem,  are  not  surpassed 
by  those  of  the  willow,  that  delights  in  similar  places. 
The  reddish  whiteness  of  the  bark  and  wood  has  given 
the  name  to  this  tree.  It  is  a  tall,  bushy  tree  of  rapid 
growth,  rolling  up  its  bark  in  coarse  ringlets,  which  are 
whitish  with  a  stain  of  crimson. 


THE  INDIAN  SUMMER 

WHEN  November  arrives,  leading  along  with  it  the 
short  days  and  the  darkness  of  winter,  it  opens  the  win- 
dows of  the  deep  woods,  pervaded  all  summer  by  a  sort  of 
artificial  twilight.  The  general  denuded  state  of  the  forest 
admits  the  sunshine  into  its  interior,  and  brightens  it  with 
a  cheerfulness  exceeding  that  of  any  other  season.  Some 
light-tinted  leaves  still  remain  upon  the  trees  which  have 
been  screened  by  their  situation  from  the  frost  and  the 
wind,  and  many  an  interesting  object  is  exposed  to  view 
which  was  concealed  by  the  foliage  in  summer.  A  few 
asters  and  gentians  still  linger  in  some  protected  nook, 
and  the  chickadees  and  hemp-birds  make  the  wood  lively 
by  their  garrulity  and  their  motions.  The  ground  is  cov- 
ered with  red,  brown,  and  yellow  leaves,  making  a  pleas- 
ant carpet  for  our  feet,  and  increasing  all  the  pleasures 
of  a  woodland  ramble. 

After  the  fall  of  the  leaf  is  completed,  then,  accord- 
ing to  tradition,  comes  the  Indian  Summer,  —  a  fruitful 
theme  both  for  poets  and  philosophical  writers,  but  of 
which  no  one  knows  anything  from  experience.  It  may, 
after  all,  be  only  a-  myth,  like  the  halcyon  days  of  the 
ancients,  the  offspring  of  a  tradition  that  originated  with 
certain  customs  of  the  Indian,  and  which  occasional  days 
of  fine  weather  in  the  autumn  have  served  to  perpetuate. 
It  is  certain  that  we  have  now  in  the  Eastern  States  no 
regular  coming  of  this  delightful  term  of  mildness  and 
serenity,  this  smiling  interruption  of  the  melancholy 
days  of  autumn.  We  are  greeted  occasionally  by  two  or 


316  THE  INDIAN  SUMMEE. 

three  days  resembling  it  after  the  first  cool  weather  of 
October,  and  these  short  visits  are  in  some  years  repeated 
several  times.  But  a  true  Indian  Summer,  attended  with 
all  the  peculiar  phenomena  described  by  some  of  our 
early  writers  both  in  prose  and  verse,  rarely  accompanies 
a  modem  autumn.  It  has  fled  from  our  land  before  the 
progress  of  civilization ;  it  has  departed  with  the  primi- 
tive forest.  I  will,  however,  for  the  present,  set  aside  all 
my  conjectures  of  its  mythical  character,  and  treat  it  as  a 
matter  of  fact. 

The  Indian  Summer,  if  such  a  season  was  ever  known, 
was  a  phenomenon  produced  by  some  unexplained  cir- 
cumstances attending  the  universal  wooded  state  of  the 
country  that  existed  for  many  years  after  its  settlement. 
According  to  the  most  apparently  authentic  accounts,  it 
did  not  arrive  until  November,  nor  until  a  series  of  hard 
frosts  had  destroyed  all  the  leaves  of  the  forest.  It  then 
appeared  regularly  every  year.  At  the  present  time  peo- 
ple know  so  little  about  it  that  they  cannot  name  the 
period  of  the  autumn  when,  if  it  were  not  a  thing  of  the 
past,  it  should  be  expected.  Will  the  disappearance  of 
this  phenomenon  admit  of  a  philosophic  explanation  ? 
Let  us  consider  some  of  its  probable  causes,  and  the 
effects  of  the  changes  which  have  taken  place  in  our 
land. 

It  has  been  observed  that  a  meadow  covered  with  lux- 
uriant grass  and  other  herbage  cools  the  atmosphere  that 
rests  upon  it  much  more  rapidly  than  a  similar  meadow 
covered  with  a  scanty  herbage.  The  moisture  exhaled  into 
the  air  by  vegetable  perspiration  is  greater  than  from  any 
other  natural  surface;  and  as  the  radiation  of  heat  is 
rapid  in  proportion  to  the  moist  condition  of  the  atmos- 
phere, the  cooling  process  over  a  grassy  meadow  is  vastly 
greater  than  over  a  similar  ground  bare  of  vegetation.  A 
wood,  in  like  manner,  by  exhaling  through  its  foliage  the 


THE  INDIAN   SUMMER.  317 

moisture  it  draws  from  the  earth,  cools  the  atmosphere  in 
proportion  to  the  amount  of  its  foliage,  while  at  the  same 
time  it  shades  the  ground  from  the  sun.  Anything  that 
should  check  this  vegetable  perspiration  would  in  the 
same  ratio  preserve  the  heat  of  the  atmosphere  by  di- 
minishing the  radiation  of  heat  that  takes  place  more 
slowly  in  dry  than  in  moist  air. 

This  is  precisely  what  happens  soon  after  the  first  severe 
frosts  of  November,  when  the  whole  extent  of  the  forest 
over  thousands  of  miles  is  laid  bare  in  the  brief  space  of 
two  or  three  days.  There  is  a  sudden  and  universal 
diminution  of  the  moisture  that  was  given  out  from  the 
leaves  of  trees  and  other  plants  before  the  frost  had  de- 
stroyed them ;  for  the  evaporation  caused  by  the  drying 
of  fallen  leaves  and  herbage  is  comparatively  slight,  and 
ceases  after  a  few  hours'  exposure  to  the  sun.  The  at- 
mosphere being  dry,  and  the  radiation  of  heat  proportion- 
ally small  in  quantity,  all  these  circumstances,  if  no  un- 
usual atmospheric  disturbances  occur  from  any  other 
hidden  cause,  unite  in  producing  a  sudden  and  universal 
accumulation  of  heat.  The  warm  period  that  follows  is 
the  Indian  Summer. 

A  writer  in  "  Silliman's  Journal "  of  1833,  who  advances 
a  very  different  theory  to  explain  this  phenomenon,  makes 
a  statement  that  favors  my  view :  "  It  appears  to  us  that 
the  existence  and  duration  of  the  Indian  Summer  in  this 
country  has  an  important  connection  with  the  extensive 
forests  and  uncultivated  lands  peculiar  to  America.  And 
it  is  worthy  of  remark,  that,  according  to  the  recollection 
of  the  oldest  of  our  inhabitants,  its  former  duration  was 
often  three  or  four  weeks ;  whereas  its  present  continu- 
ance is  short  and  uncertain,  seldom  exceeding  ten  or  fif- 
teen days.  It  appears  also  that  this  decline  has  been  some- 
what regular,  keeping  pace  with,  and  evidently  influenced 
by,  the  gradual  uncovering  of  the  country." 


318  THE   INDIAN    SUMMER. 

It  is  surprising  that  the  writer,  after  making  these 
observations,  should  resort  to  some  unintelligible  reason- 
ing about  the  trade- winds,  and  certain  assumed  electric 
phenomena,  to  account  for  the  Indian  Summer.  I  can 
easily  believe  that  before  the  encroachments  upon  the 
American  forest  were  very  extensive,  this  halcyon  period 
of  autumn  may  have  occurred  every  year  with  great 
regularity.  But  since  the  clearing  is  almost  universal, 
these  conditions  have  been  entirely  changed.  During  the 
primitive  state  of  the  forest,  its  sudden  denudation  pro- 
duced a  more  complete  revolution  on  the  face  of  the 
country  than  could  possibly  happen  at  the  present  time. 
The  clearing  of  the  woods  has  also  cast  down  the  barriers 
that  impeded  the  circulation  of  the  winds ;  at  present  these 
winds,  sweeping  freely  over  the  continent,  would  counter- 
act any  influences,  whatever  they  might  be,  that  would 
produce  an  Indian  Summer  in  any  locality. 

The  true  Indian  Summer  was  a  period  of  very  mild 
weather,  lasting  from  ten  to  fifteen  days,  and  accom- 
panied neither  by  wind  nor  rain.  It  has  been  incorrectly 
described  by  certain  writers  as  attended  with  fog.  The 
sky,  though  somewhat  dim,  was  not  obscured  by  vapor, 
but  by  a  sort  of  ruddy  haze,  that  veiled  the  prospect,  as 
it  often  will  during  a  series  of  warm,  still  days  happen- 
ing at  any  season.  I  draw  my  inferences  from  what  I 
have  reason  to  consider  the  most  authentic  accounts.  The 
air  was  dry ;  and  it  could  not  have  been  otherwise.  If  it 
were  moist,  the  increased  radiation  would  soon  dissipate 
the  heat  and  put  an  end  to  the  Indian  Summer,  which 
was  never  known  to  survive  a  copious  and  extensive  fall 
of  rain.  The  atmosphere  was  described  as  being  obscured 
by  smoke,  rather  than  vapor,  and  this  was  most  apparent 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  day.  This  smoky  atmosphere 
has  led  some  writers  to  suppose  the  whole  phenomenon 
to  be  caused  by  fires  in  the  woods. 


THE  INDIAN   SUMMER.  319 

According  to  tradition,  no  part  of  the  year  was  more 
delightful  than  this  short  period.  Those  accounts,  how- 
ever, that  extended  its  duration  beyond  the  space  of  four- 
teen or  fifteen  days  were  undoubtedly  exaggerated.  The 
nearest  approaches  to  an  Indian  Summer  which  I  have 
witnessed  in  its  proper  season  have  never  lasted  a  week. 
In  our  day,  when  a  warm  week  occurs  in  the  autumn,  it 
comes  at  no  regular  or  expected  time.  This  irregularity 
of  its  occurrence  proves  that  it  is  not  to  be  identified  as 
the  Indian  Summer,  which  was  regular  in  its  happening 
immediately  after  the  entire  denudation  ,of  the  forest. 
Similar  but  shorter  periods  of  mild  and  serene  weather 
may  happen,  at  the  present  epoch,  in  winter  and  spring 
as  well  as  in  autumn.  These  irregularities  of  the  weather 
cannot  be  explained  ;  nor  can  we  make  predictions  of  the 
time  when  any  of  them  may  happen.  But  a  warm  period 
in  October  or  December  or  January  is  not  an  Indian  Sum- 
mer, which  belonged  to  November,  and  is  only  a  relic  of 
the  past. 

The  origin  of  the  name  is  explained  by  Dr.  Lyman 
Foot,  in  the  third  volume  of  "  Silliman's  Journal."  He 
says  :  "  If  you  ask  an  Indian  in  the  fall  when  he  is  going 
to  his  hunting-ground,  he  will  tell  you  when  the  fall 
summer  comes,  or  when  the  Great  Spirit  sends  our  fall 
summer ;  meaning  the  time  in  November  which  we  call 
the  Indian  Summer.  And  the  Indians  actually  believe 
that  the  Great  Spirit  sends  this  mild  season  in  November 
for  their  special  benefit." 


THE  POPLAR 

IN  the  latter  part  of  April,  some  of  the  most  con- 
spicuous groups  in  many  of  the  wooded  districts  of 
Northern  New  England  are  Poplar  woods,  full  of  olive- 
green  arnents,  and  giving  the  hue  of  their  blossoms  and 
of  their  pale  green  spray  to  large  portions  of  the  forest 
in  scattered  assemblages.  At  this  period  the  poplars  are 
an  important  ingredient  in  our  wood-scenery,  especially 
as  their  colors  vary  considerably  from  those  of  other  trees 
until  all  kinds  are  in  full  foliage.  They  have  the  merit 
also  of  preceding  a  greater  part  of  the  forest  in  the  de- 
velopment of  their  flowers.  The  aments  of  a  few  species 
are  variegated  with  red  and  purple  stamens ;  but  the  gen- 
erality do  not  vary  from  a  pure  olive.  The  Poplar  has  not 
many  of  the  qualities  of  a  beautiful  or  picturesque  tree. 
It  is  marked  by  a  coarse  and  straggling  spray,  without 
any  variety  in  its  combination.  It  is  deficient  in  beauty 
and  density  of  foliage,  which  is  chiefly  remarkable  for  its 
fragrance  and  tremulous  habit. 

All  the  poplars  are  rapid  in  their  growth,  and  will 
prosper  in  almost  all  situations.  They  prefer  a  moist, 
sandy  soil,  but  shun  the  peat  meadow.  Their  rapidity  of 
growth  renders  them  valuable  where  a  speedy  plantation 
is  wanted.  Hence  they  are  very  generally  planted  by  the 
sides  of  dusty  thoroughfares,  not  being  dainty  in  their 
choice  of  soil  and  situation.  The  species  generally  em- 
ployed for  such  purposes  is  the  Abele,  or  Silver  Poplar, 
which  possesses  these  requisite  properties  in  a  higher  de- 
gree than  our  native  trees.  It  displays  also  more  beauty 


THE  POPLAR.  321 

of  foliage,  and  takes  a  rounder  and  handsomer  shape  than 
most  others.  One  of  the  defects  which  I  have  frequently 
observed  in  the  shape  of  the  large  poplars  is  a  leaning  of 
the  branches  rather  awkwardly  toward  the  south-east, 
caused  by  the  prevalent  north-west  winds  acting  upon 
branches  of  great  proportional  length,  and  possessing  very 
little  elasticity.  This  inclination  is  observed  more  or  less 
in  other  soft-wooded  deciduous  trees. 

THE   CANADA  POPLAR. 

The  Canada  or  Balm  of  Gilead  Poplar  is  more  frequent 
by  our  waysides  than  any  other  species.  It  is  a  tree  of 
the  first  magnitude,  attaining  a  great  size  in  the  bole  as 
well  as  a  superior  height.  It  is  distinguished  by  its  large 
leaves,  of  a  bright  glossy  verdure,  and  its  long  branches, 
always  subordinate  to  the  central  shaft,  which  may  be 
traced  nearly  to  the  summit  of  the  tree.  Before  the 
leaves  begin  to  expand,  the  buds  are  covered  with  a 
yellow  glutinous  balsam,  that  diffuses  a  peculiar  and 
very  penetrating  but  agreeable  odor,  unlike  any  other. 
Sir  John  Franklin  remarks  that  this  tree  constitutes  "  the 
greatest  part  of  the  drift  timber  observed  on  the  shores  of 
the  Arctic  Sea."  It  has  a  very  wide  geographical  range, 
extending  from  Canada  to  the  Missouri  Eiver,  and  is  in 
many  places  called  the  Ontario  Poplar.  It  is  abundant 
in  the  northern  woods,  but  is  found  in  the  southern  parts 
of  New  England  only  by  the  roadsides  and  in  the  en- 
closures of  dwelling-houses.  The  balsam  is  gathered  in 
all  parts  of  the  country  as  a  healing  anodyne,  and  for 
many  ailments  it  is  a  favorite  remedy  in  domestic  medi- 
cine ;  but  no  place  has  yet  been  assigned  to  it  in  the 
pharmacopoeias.  All  the  poplars  produce  more  or  less  of 
this  substance.  It  is  very  different  from  turpentine,  more 
agreeable  when  perceived  in  the  air,  but  pungent  and  dis- 
agreeable to  the  taste. 

u*  0 


322  THE  POPLAR. 

THE  BLACK  POPLAR. 

There  are  several  of  the  poplars  that  are  not  easily  dis- 
tinguished, and  the  different  and  various  accounts  of  them 
by  botanists  have  increased  this  confusion.  Part  of  the 
difficulty  arises  from  the  dioecious  character  of  the  poplar, 
causing  in  some  instances  the  male  and  female  trees  to 
be  mistaken  for  different  species.  This  is  particularly  re- 
markable in  the  Balm  of  Gilead  poplar.  The  female  tree 
is  smaller  than  the  male,  with  larger  leaves,  and  annoys  us 
by  the  abundance  of  cottony  down  that  covers  the  ground 
for  a  considerable  space  around  it.  The  male  tree  is 
taller  and  more  spreading,  and  would  hardly  be  recognized 
as  the  same  species. 

The  Black  Poplar  is  often  planted  by  roadsides  with 
the  Canada  poplar,  and  may  be  distinguished  from  it 
by  the  greater  elegance  of  its  proportions,  its  smaller 
foliage,  and,  when  in  flower,  by  its  reddish  and  purple  cat- 
kins. It  is  preferred  to  other  species  on  account  of  an 
inferior  tendency  to  that  suckering  habit  which  is  so  dis- 
agreeable in  the  poplar  tribe.  It  seems  to  me  that  no 
persons  who  should  see  the  Canada  poplar  and  the 
Black  Poplar  growing  side  by  side,  would  hesitate  in 
giving  preference  to  the  latter,  which  is  in  almost  every 
point  a  more  beautiful  tree. 

This  species  is  called  in  Europe  the  Athenian  Poplar. 
According  to  Selby,  "  the  classic  appellation  of  Athenian 
Poplar  led  to  the  supposition  in  England  that  this  spe- 
cies is  indigenous  to  Greece,  and  that  it  derived  its  name 
from  the  city  of  Minerva.  Several  learned  botanists  were 
misled  by  this  name ;  but  it  was  finally  ascertained  that 
North  America  is  its  native  country,  and  from  its  abun- 
dance in  a  particular  township  called  Athens  it  received 
the  imposing  title  of  Athenian  Poplar." 


THE  POPLAR.  323 

THE  RIVER  POPLAR. 

The  Kiver  Poplar  is  not  rare  in  the  New  England 
forest,  but  it  is  little  known  as  an  ornamental  tree. 
Emerson  says :  "  It  is  much  the  tallest  and  most  graceful 
of  those  which  grow  naturally  in  New  England.  Its 
foliage  is  equal  to  that  of  the  Balm  of  Gilead  in  size,  and 
superior  to  it  in  depth  of  color ;  and  the  abundance  of  its 
aments  in  the  spring,  and  the  rich  colors  of  its  leaf-stalks 
and  young  branches,  when  growing  in  somewhat  dry 
situations,  make  it  a  beautiful  object."  The  aments  of 
this  tree  are  not  olive-colored,  like  those  of  the  two  aspens, 
but  inclining  to  red,  though  not  so  bright  as  those  of  the 
black  and  Lombardy  poplars.  It  is  very  justly  called 
the  Eiver  Poplar,  being  found  chiefly  in  wet  places,  near 
brooksides,  on  the  banks  of  rivers,  and  in  alluvial  valleys 
which  are  liable  to  be  inundated  in  spring.  This  tree 
displays  the  characteristic  peculiarities  of  the  family  in 
giving  out  its  lateral  branches  at  a  sharp  angle  and 
subordinate  to  the  trunk. 


SOUNDS  FROM  TEEES. 

"  THE  earliest  chant,"  says  Momsen,  "  in  the  view  of 
the  Eomans,  was  that  which  the  trees  sang  to  themselves, 
in  the  green  solitudes  of  the  forest.  The  whisperings  and 
pipings  of  the  favorable  spirit  in  the  grove  were  repeated 
by  the  singer,  with  the  accompaniment  of  the  pipe." 
Certain  trees  belonging  to  the  sacred  groves  gave  oracular 
sounds,  which  were  interpreted  by  musicians,  and  received 
by  all  men  with  faith  and  reverence.  From  the  earliest 
ages  men  have  listened  to  sounds  from  trees  as  music  and 
as  the  voice  of  some  deity,  affording  auguries  of  future 
events ;  for,  as  they  reasoned,  if  a  deity  speaks  to  us, 
what  sounds  would  be  a  more  appropriate  medium  of 
communication  than  those  of  the  trees  which  formed  their 
temples  and  their  altars  ?  The  sanctity  attributed  to  cer- 
tain groves  by  the  ancients  was  probably  owing  to  some 
peculiar  sounds  emitted  by  the  trees,  no  less  than  to  the 
grandeur  and  impressiveness  of  their  assemblages. 

Every  tree,  when  swept  by  the  winds,  gives  a  sound  in 
harmony  with  the  character  of  its  leaves  and  spray.  The 
sounds  from  the  lofty  branches  of  firs  and  pines  remind 
the  listener  of  the  murmuring  of  waters,  and  inspire 
the  most  agreeable  sensations.  How  often  have  I  sat 
under  the  shade  of  a  pine  wood,  and  listened  to  the 
fancied  roaring  of  the  distant  waves  of  the  sea,  as  the 
winds  passed  through  their  foliage.  When  the  breeze 
commences,  we  hear  the  first  soft  rippling  of  the  waves ; 
as  it  increases,  succeeding  waves  of  fuller  swell  flow  trem- 
ulously upon  the  strand,  and  as  the  wind  subsides  melt 


SOUNDS   FROM  TREES.  325 

into  silence  as  they  recede  from  the  shore.  Other  trees 
produce  very  different  sounds.  The  colors  of  their  leaves, 
and  the  glittering  lights  from  their  more  or  less  refractive 
surfaces,  do  not  differ  more  than  the  modifications  of 
sound  drawn  from  them  by  the  passing  winds.  Every 
tree  is  a  delicate  musical  instrument,  that  reminds  us  of 
the  character  of  the  tree  and  the  season  of  the  year,  from 
the  mellow  soothing  tones  of  willow  leaves  in  summer  to 
the  sharp  rustling  of  the  dry  oak-leaf  that  tells  of  the 
arrival  of  winter. 

The  sounds  from  trees  are  a  very  important  part  of  the 
music  of  nature;  but  their  agreeableness  comes  rather 
from  certain  emotions  they  awaken  than  from  the  melody 
of  their  tones.  Nature  has  accommodated  her  gifts  to  our 
•wants  and  sensibilities,  so  that  her  beneficence  is  never 
so  apparent  as  in  the  pleasures  we  derive  from  the  most 
common  objects.  If  we  are  afflicted  with  grief  or  wearied 
with  care,  we  flee  to  the  groves  to  be  soothed  by  the  quiet 
of  their  solitudes,  and  by  the  sounds  from  their  boughs 
which  are  tuned  to  every  healthful  mood  of  the  mind. 
Among  the  thousand  strings  that  are  swept  by  the  winds, 
there  is  always  a  chord  in  unison  with  our  feelings ;  and 
while  each  strain  comes  to  the  ear  with  its  accordant 
vibration,  the  mind  is  healed  of  its  disquietude  by  sounds 
that  seem  like  direct  messages  of  peace  from  the  guar- 
dian deities  of  the  wood. 

We  find  in  the  works  of  Ossian  frequent  allusions  to 
the  sounds  from  trees,  to  heighten  the  effect  of  his  descrip- 
tions. As  the  "  Spirit  of  the  Mountain,"  he  addresses  the 
wind  that  bends  the  oaks,  and  gives  out  that  deep  melan- 
choly sound  that  precedes  a  storm,  "  when  Temora's  woods 
shake  with  the  blast  of  the  inconstant  winds."  He  speaks 
of  the  "sons  of  song"  as  having  gone  to  rest,  while  his 
own  voice  remains,  like  the  feeble  sounds  of  the  forest, 
when  the  winds  are  laid.  When  the  aged  oak  of  Morven 


326  SOUNDS  FROM  TREES. 

bends  over  the  stream,  its  sounds  are  mournful,  like  those 
of  a  harp  when  swept  by  the  wind.  According  to  Os- 
sian,  it  is  the  oak  that  blends  its  music  with  the  sounds 
of  lamentation,  and  sings  the  dirges  of  departed  heroes. 
And  the  bard  declares  that  he  will  cease  to  mourn  for 
them  only  when  the  music  of  the  oak  shall  no  longer  be 
heard  in  the  groves  of  echoing  Cona. 

When  a  strong  wTind  prevails,  the  leaves  of  all  trees 
are  put  in  motion,  and  their  sounds  cannot  be  distin- 
guished ;  and  during  a  storm  the  roar  of  winds  among 
their  branches  is  almost  deafening.  This  is  the  grand  cho- 
rus of  the  elements ;  but  the  sounds  that  affect  us  most 
agreeably  are  such  as  come  from  light  movements  of  the 
wind  and  harmonize  with  the  warbling  and  chirping  of 
birds.  It  is  the  aspen  that  gives  out  those  lulling  melo- 
dies that  spring  from  the  gentle  gales  of  summer.  When 
we  are  sitting  at  an  open  window  on  a  still  evening,  or 
sauntering  in  a  wood,  or  musing  in  the  shade  of  a  quiet 
nook,  when  the  wind  is  so  calm  that  the  hum  of  the  in- 
visible insect-swarms,  hovering  in  the  air,  is  plainly  audi- 
ble, then  is  the  trembling  motion  of  the  aspen  leaves 
peculiarly  significant  of  the  serenity  of  the  elements. 
They  produce  a  tranquillizing  sound,  associated  with  rest 
in  the  languor  of  noonday,  or  with  watching  in  the  still 
hours  of  a  summer  night. 

When  the  quiet  of  the  atmosphere  begins  to  yield  to 
the  movements  of  a  rising  tempest,  the  aspen,  by  its  ex- 
cessive agitation,  gives  prophetic  warning  of  its  approach. 
Often,  in  a  sultry  evening,  the  first  notice  I  have  received 
of  a  rising  thunder-storm  came  from  the  increased  trepida- 
tion of  an  aspen  that  stood  before  my  window.  So  deli- 
cate and  sensitive  is  the  foliage  of  this  tree  that  it  is  ex- 
cited to  action  by  atmospheric  changes  before  that  of  any 
other  tree  is  moved.  Thus,  while  the  rustling  of  the  aspen 
leaf,  when  gentle,  indicates  the  tranquillity  of  summer 


SOUNDS   FROM  TREES.  327 

weather,  there  is  likewise  an  expression  of  melancholy  in 
its  tones  when  more  severely  agitated,  that  forebodes  a 
general  stirring  of  the  winds  as  they  come  up  from  the 
gathering-place  of  the  storm. 

I  have  spoken  only  of  those  sounds  from  trees  which 
are  caused  by  the  action  of  the  winds  upon  their  leaves 
and  branches.  But  there  are  incidental  sounds  belonging 
to  the  woods,  which  are  modified  so  as  to  produce  feelings 
awakened  by  no  other  situation.  It  is  in  the  deep  still- 
ness of  the  forest,  and  over  spacious  and  uninhabited  plains, 
that  we  feel  most  sensibly  the  peculiar  effect  of  bells, 
whether  it  be  the  solemn  peal  of  a  bell  from  a  church 
tower  or  the  tinkle  of  a  cow-bell  that  reminds  us  of 
simple  rural  life.  The  ordinary  toll  of  bells  is  much  more 
impressive  than  a  chime  in  these  solitudes,  because  the- 
artificial  melody  of  the  chime  does  not  so  agreeably  har- 
monize with  natural  sounds. 

In  winter  the  sounds  from  trees,  except  in  a  pine  wood, 
are  greatly  modified  by  the  absence  of  foliage.  It  is  at 
this  season,  therefore,  that  we  pay  the  most  attention  to 
incidental  sounds.  When  the  snow  upon  the  ground  has 
been  hardened  by  repeated  freezing  and  thawing,  I  have 
often  chosen  this  occasion  for  winter  rambling  in  the  woods. 
The  loneliness  inspired  by  their  seclusion  is  never  so 
keenly  felt  as  at  this  season,  when  there  are  but  few 
sounds  from  birds  and  insects.  Then  does  the  stroke 
of  the  woodman's  axe  affect  us  with  the  most  cheer- 
ful emotions.  It  reminds  us  of  the  presence  of  other 
human  beings  in  the  wood,  and  enlivens  the  solitude,  as 
the  sight  of  a  little  cottage  in  a  wilderness  affords  the 
traveller  a  sensation  of  the  joys  of  home. 

The  reverberations  of  the  forest  are  most  remarkable  in 
lonely  places,  where  the  silence  is  favorable  to  their  dis- 
tinctness. It  is  by  means  of  echoes  that  Nature  appropri- 
ates all  artificial  sounds,  and  makes  them  a  part  of  her 


328  SOUNDS   FKOM  TEEES. 

own  harmony ;  and,  by  a  little  reflection,  we  shall  dis- 
cover that  echoes  are  a  part  of  the  universal  life  of  na- 
ture. It  is  in  winter,  however,  that  they  most  sensibly 
affect  us.  In  summer  we  feel  that  we  are  not  alone ;  for 
millions  of  voices  declare  the  presence  of  innumerable 
happy  creatures,  chirping  and  singing  around  us.  In 
winter  these  voices  are  mostly  silent.  It  is  then  that 
these  invisible  deities,  who  were  supposed  by  the  ancients 
to  dwell  in  hidden  places  in  the  form  of  beautiful 
nymphs,  return  cheerful  responses  to  all  sounds  that  are 
awake.  When  the  solitary  woodman  strikes  his  axe  at 
the  root  of  the  tree,  his  benevolent  echo  responds  to  the 
sound,  reminding  him  that  he  is  not  alone ;  and  the 
consciousness  of  this  presence  animates  him  to  more 
cheerful  exertion. 


THE  LOMBAEDY  POPLAR 

THERE  are  not  many  trees  that  take  the  shape  of  a 
long  spire ;  but  Nature,  who  presents  to  our  eyes  an  ever- 
charming  variety  of  forms  as  well  as  colors,  has  given  us 
this  figure  in  the  arbor- vitse,  the  juniper,  and  the  Lom- 
bardy  Poplar.  This  was  the  species  which  was  cultivated 
by  the  Eomans,  the  classic  Poplar  of  Korne  and  Athens. 
To  this  tree  Ovid  alludes  when  he  describes  the  resi- 
nous drops  from  the  Poplar  as  the  tears  of  Phaeton's 
sisters,  who  were  transformed  into  poplars.  Smith  says  : 
"  Groves  of  poplar  and  willow  exhibit  this  phenomenon, 
even  in  England,  in  hot  calm  weather,  when  drops  of 
clear  water  trickle  from  their  leaves  like  a  slight  shower 
of  rain." 

The  Lombardy  Poplar  is  interesting  to  thousands  in 

this  country,  who  were  familiar  with  it  in  their  youth. 

as  an  ornament  of  roadsides,  village  lanes,  and  avenues. 

It  was  once  a  favorite  shade-tree,  and  still  retains  its 

privileges  in  some  ancient  homesteads.     A  century  ago, 

£eat  numbers  of  Lombardy  Poplars  were  planted  by 

Tillage  waysides,  in  front  of  dwelling-houses,  on  the  bor- 

dW  of  public  grounds,  and  particularly  in  avenues  lead- 

inVto  houses  that  stand  at  some  distance  from  the  high 

ro£.     A  row  of  these  trees  is  even  now  suggestive  of  an 

appoach  to  some  old  mansion,  that  still  retains  its  primi- 

tivejimplicity. 

Gbat  numbers  of  Lombardy  Poplars  were  destroyed  at 
the  Iginning  of  this  century,  from  the  notion  that  they 
a  poisonous  worm  or  caterpillar.     But  some  of 


330  THE  LOMBAKDY  POPLAR. 

these  ancient  rows  of  poplars  are  occasionally  seen  in  old 
fields  where  almost  all  traces  of  the  habitation  they  accom- 
panied are  gone.  There  is  a  melancholy  pleasure  in  sur- 
veying these  humble  ruins,  whose  history  would  illustrate 
many  of  the  domestic  habits  of  our  ancestors.  The  cel- 
lar of  the  old  house  is  now  a  part  of  the  pasture  land ; 
and  its  form  may  be  dimly  traced  by  an  angular  depres- 
sion of  the  surface.  Sumachs  and  cornel-bushes  have 
supplanted  the  exotic  shrubbery  in  the  old  garden ;  and 
the  only  ancient  companions  of  the  Poplar  now  remain- 
ing are  a  few  straggling  lilacs,  some  tufts  of  houseleek, 
and  perhaps,  under  the  shade  of  a  dilapidated  fence,  the 
white  Star  of  Bethlehem  is  seen  meekly  glowing  in  the 
rude  society  of  the  wild  flowers. 

But  the  Lornbardy  Poplar,  once  a  favorite  wayside  orna- 
ment, a  sort  of  idol  of  the  public,  and,  like  many  another 
idol,  exalted  to  honors  beyond  its  merits,  fell  suddenly  into 
contempt  and  neglect.     After  having  been  admired  by 
every  eye,  it  was  spurned  and  ridiculed,  and  cut  down  in 
many  places  as  a  cumberer  of  the  ground.     The  faults 
attributed  to  it  were  not  specific  defects  of  the  tree,  but 
were  caused  by  a  climate  uncongenial  to  its  nature.     It 
was  brought  from  the  sunny  clime  of  Italy,  where  it 
had  flourished  by  the  side  of  the  orange  and  myrtle 
and  transplanted  to  the  snowy  plains  of  New  Englan<. 
The  tender  habit  of  the  tree  made  it  incapable  of  en- 
during our  winters ;  and  every  spring  witnessed  the  <e- 
cay  of  many  of  its  small  branches.     It  became  prema- 
turely aged,  and  in  its  decline  carried  with  it  the  mfks 
of  its  infirmities. 

With  all  these  imperfections,  it  was  more  wortlf  of 
the  honors  it  received  from  our  predecessors  than  -f  its 
present  neglect.  It  is  one  of  the  fairest  of  trees  -i  the 
greenness  of  its  youth,  far  surpassing  any  other  polar  in 
its  shape  and  in  the  density  and  general  beaut;  of  its 


THE   LOMBAKDY  POPLAR.  331 

foliage ;  but  nearly  all  these  old  trees  are  gone,  and 
few  of  the  same  species  are  coming  up  to  supply  their 
places.  While  I  am  writing,  I  see  from  my  window 
the  graceful  spire  of  one  solitary  tree,  towering  above 
the  surrounding  objects  of  the  landscape.  It  stands 
there,  the  symbol  of  decayed  reputation ;  in  its  old 
age  still  retaining  the  primness  of  its  youth,  neither 
drooping  under  its  infirmities  nor  losing  in  its  decrepi- 
tude the  fine  lustre  of  its  foliage.  In  its  disgrace,  it  still 
bears  itself  proudly,  as  if  conscious  that  its  former  hon- 
ors were  deserved,  and  not  forgetting  the  dignity  that 
becomes  one  who  has  fallen  without  dishonor. 

There  is  no  other  tree  that  so  pleasantly  adorns  the 
sides  of  narrow  lanes  and  avenues,  or  so  neatly  accom- 
modates itself  to  limited  enclosures.  Its  foliage  is  dense 
and  of  the  liveliest  verdure,  making  delicate  music  to  the 
soft  touch  of  every  breeze.  Its  terebinthine  odors  scent 
the  vernal  gales  that  enter  our  open  windows  with  the 
morning  sun.  Its  branches,  always  turning  upwards 
and  closely  gathered  together,  afford  a  harbor  to  the 
singing-birds,  that  make  them  a  favorite  resort;  and 
its  long,  tapering  spire,  that  points  to  heaven,  gives  an 
air  of  cheerfulness  and  religious  tranquillity  to  village 
scenery. 


THE  TEOUT-STEEAM. 

I  HAVE  never  been  a  zealous  or  a  diligent  angler,  and 
whenever  I  have  thus  employed  myself,  it  was  rather 
as  a  voluptuary  bent  on  the  quiet  observation  of  nature, 
than  as  a  lover  of  the  sport.  Yet  I  will  confess  that  next 
to  rambling  through  a  wood-path  or  over  an  old  by-road 
in  the  country,  I  cannot  name  a  more  delightful  journey 
than  that  of  following  a  trout-stream,  especially  if  en- 
gaged in  the  pleasant  occupation  of  trolling  for  the  timid 
tenants  of  the  brook.  The  angler  passes  down  the  stream ; 
and  seldom  in  this  direction,  save  when  it  is  lost  in  a 
wood  or  a  fen,  will  it  disappoint  his  pursuit.  Its  intri- 
cacies are  a  source  of  constant  amusement,  and  its  mo- 
mentary disappearances  serve  but  to  awaken  our  interest. 
While  moving  with  the  stream,  it  can  never  entirely  elude 
our  observation.  But  if  we  turn  the  opposite  way,  and 
try  to  discover  its  source,  we  soon  become  involved  in 
the  perplexity  of  the  metaphysician  when  he  endeavors 
to  unravel  the  mystery  of  final  causes. 

But  there  is  a  peculiar  excitement  attending  a  search 
for  the  original  source  of  the  stream,  that  has  often 
tempted  us  to  seek  for  it.  "We  imagine  it  is  some 
shady  nook  or  dripping  dell,  in  which  the  ferns  and 
mosses  have  their  paradise;  and  that,  if  we  could  but 
gain  this  spot,  we  should  view  the  sacred  urn  of  the 
Naiad,  and  observe  how  she  distils  its  waters  from  the 
dews  of  heaven  and  the  dappled  clouds  of  morning.  We 
wander  through  glens  and  thickets  and  over  plains  and 
valleys,  pausing  only  to  note  the  flowers  of  every  hue 


' 


• 


THE  TROUT-STREAM.  335 

that  serves  as  a  watering-place  for  cattle  and  flocks.  Here 
it  takes  a  momentary  rest  •  then  leaps  forward  tumultu- 
ously  through  a  glen  bordered  with  alders  and  honey- 
suckles, occasionally  glittering  in  sunshine  in  the  open- 
ings, like  a  frolicsome  child  who  often  turns  beaming  with 
laughter.  Then  we  trace  its  quiet  meanderings  through 
a  wide  level  of  green  meadow,  impurpled  with  the  blos- 
soms of  pea-vines,  and  where  Arethusa,  once  the  nymph 
of  a  fountain,  scatters  her  bloom  over  the  meadow  like 
wreaths  from  the  rainbow. 

But  it  would  be  vain  to  bring  to  memory  all  the  green 
lanes  we  have  crossed,  in  following  the  capricious  stream 
in  its  wanderings,  of  all  the  sweet  and  flowery  meadows 
we  have  passed  over,  of  the  dank,  rushy  shallows  we  have 
waded,  of  the  tracts  of  dark,  silent  woods  through  which 
we  have  followed  it,  and  of  the  numerous  cascades  it  has 
formed  as  it  leaps  down  from  the  table-land  into  the 
space  below.  It  would  seem  as  if  it  consciously  pursued 
the  most  picturesque  paths  over  the  country,  affording 
glimpses  of  distant  towns,  when  suddenly  emerging  from 
the  hills,  then  leading  us  almost  to  the  doorstep  of  rustic 
farm-houses,  surrounded  by  their  solemn  cattle  and  their 
smiling  children. 

The  day  begins  to  decline  as  weariness  creeps  over 
us.  The  outlying  fields  show  but  narrow  gleams  of  sun- 
shine between  the  gathering  shadows.  The  brook  still 
keeps  on  its  restless  and  melodious  course,  not  ceasing  its 
motions  with  the  sleep  of  animated  nature,  nor  its  music 
with  the  silence  of  the  birds.  The  trees  grow  dim  and 
dubious  in  the  shade  of  the  hills,  while  some  of  their 
loftier  summits  are  tipped  with  the  amber  glow  of  sunset. 
Homeward  we  take  our  solitary  walk,  while  the  vesper-bird 
sings  from  some  neighboring  hay-field,  or,  still  later,  the 
whippoorwill  chants  his  melancholy  notes  as  we  wend  our 
through  dewy  footpaths  to  our  home  in  the  village. 


THE  ASPEK 

ALL  lovers  of  nature  admire  the  Aspen  on  account  of 
its  name,  which,  like  that  of  the  willow,  is  poetical,  both 
from  its  musical  sound  and  from  association.  There  is  no 
tree  more  celebrated  in  emblematical  literature  than  the 
Aspen.  Its  sensitiveness  to  the  least  movement  of  the 
wind,  its  restless  motions,  as  if  some  morbid  occasion  of 
disquiet  unceasingly  attended  it,  have  given  it  a  place  in 
the  poetry  of  all  nations.  But  setting  aside  its  symbolical 
meanings,  its  suggestions  of  fickleness  and  caprice,  of  levity 
and  irresolution,  of  impatience  and  instability,  and  the 
use  that  has  been  made  of  it  in  satirical  writings  to  sym- 
bolize the  "  inconstant  temper  of  woman,"  the  beauty  and 
motion  of  its  foliage  alone  would  always  attract  admira- 
tion. As  the  Aspen  is  the  only  tree  whose  leaf  trembles 
when  the  wind  is  apparently  calm,  its  gentle  rustling  is 
always  associated  with  still  summer  weather. 

THE  GREAT  AMERICAN  ASPEN. 

The  Great  American  Aspen  is  a  remarkable  tree.  In 
height  it  is  unsurpassed  by  any  of  the  poplars,  though 
there  is  little  about  it  that  is  attractive  except  its 
great  height  and  its  peculiar  foliage.  It  is  seldom  of 
large  dimensions,  and  it  is  without  symmetry  or  ele- 
gance in  its  ramification.  Its  branches  seem  to  have 
a  straggling  growth,  not  extending  so  widely,  nor  at  so 
acute  an  angle,  as  those  of  the  poplar.  Its  foliage  is 
its  principal  ornament.  This  would  be  very  dense  if  it 


THE  ASPEN.  337 

were  not  for  the  scarcity  of  small  branches,  which  are  so 
far  apart  as  to  give  the  tree  a  meagre  appearance,  even 
when  full  of  leaves.  The  leaf  is  beautiful,  being  round 
ovate,  deeply  serrate,  and  put  in  motion  by  the  slightest 
breeze.  As  a  standard  the  Great  Aspen  is  not  highly 
prized.  It  is  easily  broken  by  the  wind,  and  is  without 
symmetry,  —  a  necessary  quality  in  a  tree  of  the  poplar 
tribe,  which  possesses  none  of  the  properties  of  grandeur. 
But  when  the  trees  of  this  species  form  a  dense  wood, 
they  are  unsurpassed  in  the  beauty  of  their  perfectly 
straight  shafts,  with  their  smooth,  greenish  bark  extend- 
ing upward  to  an  immense  height  without  a  branch. 
The  Great  Aspen  is  very  common  in  the  woods  of  Maine 
and  New  Hampshire,  where  the  second  growth  of  timber 
predominates. 

The  specific  name  of  this  tree,  grandidentata,  always 
affected  me  ludicrously,  when  I  considered  that  it  was 
applied  to  it  merely  from  the  deep  indentations  on  the 
edge  of  its  serrate  leaves.  Excelsa  would  be  a  more  ap- 
propriate name  for  the  species,  on  account  of  its  superior 
height. 

THE  SMALL  AMEEICAN  ASPEN. 

This  tree  resembles  the  great  aspen  in  almost  every 
particular  except  size.  It  is  a  very  common  tree  in  our 
woods,  but  is  so  little  esteemed  that  it  has  received  no 
protection  and  is  seldom  planted  by  our  roadsides.  It  is 
found  chiefly  in  copses  on  the  sides  of  some  gravelly 
bank,  growing  almost  alone,  with  a  few  cherry-trees 
and  white  birches,  and  an  undergrowth  of  brambles  and 
whortleberry-bushes.  It  is  often  abundant  on  little  dry 
elevations  that  rise  above  an  oak  wood  standing  on  a 
clay  level.  It  is  remarkable  for  its  slenderness  of  habit 
and  the  smoothness  of  its  pale-green  bark,  which  be- 
comes whitish  and  rough  as  the  tree  grows  old.  Its 

/  15  v 


338  THE  ASPEN. 

principal  defect  is  the  thinness  of  its  foliage  and  spray ; 
its  small  branches  are  few  and  far  apart,  and  its  leaves 
small  and  sparse.  Yet  the  beauty  of  each  individual  leaf 
is  unrivalled.  It  is  heart-shaped,  finely  serrate,  and  when 
young  is  fringed  with  a  soft,  silky,  and  purple  down.  It 
would  be  difficult  to  select  a  branch  from  any  other 
tree,  when  in  leaf,  so  beautiful  as  a  spray  of  the  Small 
Aspen. 

I  do  not  understand  the  botanical  difference  between 
the  Aspen  and  the  poplar,  except  that  the  former  includes 
certain  species  that  possess  in  an  exaggerated  degree  the 
family  characteristic  of  a  tremulous  leaf.  The  Aspen, 
however,  is  the  proverbial  tree,  the  tree  of  romance  and 
fable.  Hence  we  regard  it  with  more  interest,  though  in 
America  the  two  aspens  fall  short  of  the  poplars  in 
almost  every  point  of  elegance  and  beauty. 


RELATIONS  OF  TEEES  TO  POETRY  AND  FABLE. 

FEOM  the  earliest  period  of  history,  mankind  have 
looked  upon  trees  and  woods  with  veneration,  regarding 
them  as  special  gifts  of  the  gods  to  the  human  race. 
The  ancient  priests  and  philosophers  used  them  as  their 
places  of  retirement,  both  for  the  study  of  wisdom  and 
the  services  of  religion.  Hence  arose  that  early  custom 
of  planting  trees  in  circles,  forming  a  kind  of  amphi- 
theatre, for  religious  assemblies.  The  teachers  of  philoso- 
phy used  the  same  circular  groves.  These  were  held  in 
the  greatest  reverence ;  and  no  man  dared  to  commit  the 
sacrilegious  act  of  cutting  down  any  part  of  them  or  de- 
facing any  of  the  trees.  By  means  of  these  circular 
groves,  wise  and  holy  men  obtained  that  seclusion  and 
quiet  which  it  was  not  easy  to  find  in  towns  and  cities. 
They  were  both  schools  and  chapels,  devoted  to  religion 
and  philosophy.  Hence  the  often-quoted  remark  of  Pliny 
that  "  the  groves  were  the  first  temples  of  the  gods." 

It  is  not  improbable  that  many  of  the  ancient  super- 
stitions relating  to  trees  and  groves  originated  with  wise 
men,  who  believed  that  such  holy  fears  alone  would  re- 
strain the  people  from  devastating  the  whole  earth  by 
the  destruction  of  trees.  Science  now  supplies  man- 
kind with  rational  motives  for  their  preservation,  in 
place  of  the  religious  scruples  of  ancient  communi- 
ties. I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  many  a  rational 
principle  has  been  advocated  by  wise  men  under  the 
guise  of  theology.  The  druidical  priesthood  foresaw 
that  the  oak,  from  the  superior  value  of  its  timber, 


340        RELATIONS  OF  TEEES  TO  POETRY. 

could  not  be  saved  from  the  woodman's  axe  except  by 
certain  ceremonies  on  their  part  that  should  render  it 
sacred  in  the  eyes  of  the  people.  To  impress  this  idea 
of  its  sanctity  upon  their  minds,  they  made  use  of  its 
leaves  and  branches  to  consecrate  all  important  private 
or  public  transactions. 

In  still  more  ancient  times,  the  priests  adopted  the 
expedient  of  dedicating  to  some  one  of  the  gods,  par- 
ticularly to  Jupiter,  certain  woods  and  groves,  which  were 
thenceforth  held  in  veneration  by  all  men,  including  even 
invading  armies,  whose  chiefs,  while  respecting  neither 
the  lives  nor  the  property  of  the  enemy,  held  these  con- 
secrated groves  sacred  and  inviolable.  Hunting  was  for- 
bidden within  them  by  this  superstition,  and  its  injunc- 
tions were  in  all  cases  religiously  observed.  It  is  even 
asserted  that  the  wild  animals  in  these  sacred  groves  had 
become  so  tame,  from  the  permanent  security  they  enjoyed, 
that  they  did  not  flee  from  the  presence  of  man. 

Many  persons  formerly  believed  that  trees  felt  the  stroke 
of  the  woodman's  axe,  which  disturbed  the  repose  of  some 
resident  spirit.  The  ancient  Greeks  supposed  certain  trees 
to  be  inhabited  by  wood-nymphs,  and  that  these  deities 
uttered  groans  when  the  axe  was  laid  upon  the  tree. 
These  sounds  gave  origin  to  the  sacred  oracle  of  Dodona. 
There  were  two  kinds  of  nymphs  supposed  to  inhabit 
trees,  —  an  inferior  class  that  lived  during  the  life  of  the 
tree,  and  died  when  it  perished ;  and  a  superior  class,  like 
the  dryads,  who  could  pass  at  will  from  one  tree  to  another. 
"  One  might  fill  a  volume,"  says  Evelyn,  "  with  the  history 
of  groves  that  were  violated  by  wicked  men  who  came  to 
untimely  ends ;  especially  those  upon  which  the  mistletoe 
grew,  than  which  nothing  was  reputed  more  sacred." 

The  custom  of  planting  a  tree  at  the  birth  of  a  child 
has  prevailed  among  certain  nations  from  the  earliest 
times,  and  is  still  observed  in  some  parts  of  Europe. 


RELATIONS  OF  TREES  TO  POETRY.        341 

Connected  with  this  custom  was  the  idea  that  the  fate 
of  the  child  was  mysteriously  associated  with  that  of 
the  natal  tree,  which  created  the  strongest  motives, 
arising  from  parental  affection,  to  preserve  the  tree, 
and  on  the  part  of  the  child  to  protect  it  when  he  at- 
tained his  manhood.  Nothing  is  more  evident  than  the 
beneficial  tendency  of  all  these  superstitions,  at  an  early 
age  of  the  world,  when  men  were  not  wise  enough  to  be 
governed  by  the  principles  of  reason  and  science. 

The  ancients  placed  the  Naiad  and  her  fountain 
in  the  shady  arbor  of  trees,  whose  foliage  gathers  the 
waters  of  heaven  into  her  fount  and  preserves  them  from 
dissipation.  From  their  dripping  shades  she  distributed 
the  waters  which  she  garnered  from  the  skies  over  the 
plain  and  the  valley;  and  the  husbandman,  before  he 
learned  the  marvels  of  science,  worshipped  the  beneficent 
Naiad,  who  drew  the  waters  of  her  fountain  from  heaven, 
and  from  her  sanctuary  in  the  forest  showered  them  upon 
the  arid  glebe,  and  gave  new  verdure  to  the  plain.  After 
science  had  explained  to  us  the  law  by  which  these  sup- 
plies of  moisture  are  preserved  by  the  trees,  the  Naiad 
still  remained  a  sacred  theme  of  poetry.  We  would  not 
remove  the  drapery  of  foliage  that  protects  her  fountain, 
nor  drive  her  into  exile  by  the  destruction  of  the  trees, 
through  which  she  holds  mysterious  commerce  with  the 
skies,  and  preserves  our  fields  from  drought. 

Evelyn  says :  "  Innumerable  are  the  testimonies  I  might 
produce  concerning  the  inspiring  and  sacred  influence 
of  groves  from  the  ancient  poets  and  historians.  Here 
the  noblest  raptures  have  been  conceived;  and  in  the 
walks  and  shades  of  trees  poets  have  composed  verses 
which  have  animated  men  to  glorious  and  heroic  actions. 
Here  orators  have  made  their  panegyrics,  historians  their 
grave  relations;  and  here  profound  philosophers  have 
.ioved  to  pass  their  lives  in  repose  and  contemplation." 


342        RELATIONS  OF  TREES  TO  POETRY. 

As  man  is  nomadic  before  he  is  agricultural,  and  a 
maker  of  tents  and  wigwams  before  lie  is  a  builder  of 
houses  and  temples,  in  like  manner  he  is  an  architect  and 
an  idolater  before  he  becomes  a  student  of  wisdom.  He 
is  a  sacrificer  in  temples  and  a  priest  at  their  altars  before 
he  is  a  teacher  of  philosophy  and  an  interpreter  of  na- 
ture. After  the  perfection  of  mechanical  science,  a  higher 
state  of  mental  culture  succeeds,  causing  us  to  see  all 
nature  invested  with  beauty,  and  fraught  with  imagina- 
tive charms,  adding  new  wonders  to  our  views  of  creation 
and  new  dignity  to  life.  Man  learns  now  to  regard  trees 
in  other  relations  beside  their  capacity  to  supply  his 
physical  and  mechanical  wants.  He  looks  upon  them  as 
the  principal  ornaments  of  the  landscape,  and  as  the  con- 
servatories in  which  nature  preserves  certain  plants  and 
small  animals  and  birds  that  will  thrive  only  under  their 
protection,  and  those  insect  hosts  that  charm  the  student 
with  their  beauty  and  excite  his  wonder  by  their  mys- 
terious instincts.  Science  has  built  an  altar  under  the 
trees,  and  delivers  thence  new  oracles  of  wisdom,  teach- 
ing men  how  they  are  mysteriously  wedded  to  the  clouds, 
and  are  the  instruments  of  their  beneficence  to  the  earth. 

It  is  difficult  to  estimate  how  great  a  part  of  all  that  is 
cheerful  and  delightful  in  the  recollections  of  our  life  is 
associated  with  trees.  They  are  allied  with  the  songs  of 
morn,  with  the  quiet  of  noonday,  with  social  gatherings 
under  the  evening  sky,  and  with  the  beauty  and  attrac- 
tiveness of  every  season.  "Nowhere  does  nature  look 
more  lovely,  or  the  sounds  from  birds  and  insects  affect 
us  more  deeply,  than  under  their  benevolent  shade. 
Never  does  the  blue  sky  look  more  serene  than  when  its 
dappled  azure  glimmers  through  their  green  trembling 
leaves.  Their  recesses,  which  in  the  early  ages  were  the 
temples  of  religion  and  science,  are  still  the  favorite  re- 
sorts of  the  studious,  the  scenes  of  sport  for  the  active 


RELATIONS  OF  TREES  TO  POETRY.        343 

and  adventurous,  and  the  very  sanctuary  of  peaceful 
seclusion  for  the  coutemplative  and  sorrowful. 

In  our  early  years  we  are  charmed  with  the  solitude 
of  groves,  with  the  flowers  that  dwell  in  their  nooks,  with 
the  living  creatures  that  sport  among  their  branches,  and 
with  the  birds  that  convey  to  us  by  their  notes  a  share  of 
their  own  indefinable  happiness.  Nature  has  made  use 
of  trees  to  wed  our  minds  to  the  love  of  homely  scenes, 
and  to  make  us  satisfied  with  life.  How  many  recollec- 
tions of  village  merry-makings,  of  rural  sports  and  pas- 
times, of  the  frolics  of  children  and  of  studious  recreation, 
come  to  us  when  we  sit  down  under  some  old  familiar  tree 
that  stands  in  the  open  field  or  by  the  wayside !  Trees 
are  among  the  most  poetic  objects  of  creation.  Every  wood 
teems  with  legends  of  mythology  and  romance ;  every 
tree  is  vocal  with  music ;  and  their  flowers  and  fruits  do 
not  afford  more  luxury  to  the  sense  than  delight  to  the 
mind.  Trees  have  their  roots  in  the  ground ;  but  they  send 
up  their  branches  toward  the  skies,  and  are  so  many  sup- 
plicants to  Heaven  for  blessings  on  the  earth. 

In  whatever  light  we  regard  trees,  they  deserve  atten- 
tion as  the  fairest  ornaments  of  nature  ;  and  the  more  we 
study  them,  the  more  do  we  think  upon  the  dangers  that 
await  them  from  the  improvidence  of  man.  He  takes  but 
a  narrow  view  of  their  importance  who  considers  only 
their  economical  value.  The  painter  has  always  made 
them  a  particular  branch  of  his  study;  and  the  poet 
understands  their  advantages  in  increasing  the  effect  of 
his  descriptions,  and  considers  them  the  blessed  gifts  of 
nature  to  render  the  earth  a  beautiful  abode  and  sanctify 
it  to  our  affections. 


/ 


THE  ALDER 

ATT,  persons,  however  ignorant  of  trees  in  general,  are 
familiar  with  the  common  Alder.  It  abounds  everywhere 
in  wet  places,  skirting  the  banks  of  small  rivers,  border- 
ing the  sides  of  old  turnpike  roads,  where  they  pass  over 
wet  grounds,  filling  up  the  basins  of  muddy  canals,  and 
covering  with  its  monotonous  green  foliage  many  an  un- 
sightly tract  of  land,  hiding  and  then  revealing  the  glitter- 
ing surface  of  sluggish  stream  and  lonely  mere.  The  Alder 
is  a  homely  shrub,  employed  by  Nature  merely  for  the 
groundwork  of  her  living  pictures,  for  covering  stagnant 
fens  with  verdure  in  company  with  the  water-flag  and  the 
bog-rush,  and  as  a  border  growth  to  the  fenny  forest,  grad- 
uating its  foliage  by  a  pleasing  slope  down  to  the  verdure 
of  the  plain.  The  assemblages  of  Alder  constitute  the  plain 
embroidery  of  watercourses,  and  form  the  ground  upon 
which  many  a  beautiful  flowering  shrub  is  represented 
and  rendered  more  interesting. 

'  The  Alder  among  shrubs  takes  the  place  which  the 
grasses  occupy  among  herbs ;  having  no  beauty  of  its  own, 
but  contributing  to  set  off  to  advantage  the  beauty  of  other 
plants  that  flourish  in  the  same  ground.  Nature  likewise 
employs  the  roots  of  this  tree  as  a  subterranean  network, 
to  strengthen  the  banks  of  streams  and  defend  them  from 
the  force  of  torrents.  The  Alder  in  New  England  is  sel- 
dom large  enough  to  be  called  a  tree;  it  rarely  stands 
alone,  but  almost  invariably  in  clumps  or  larger  assem- 
blages, the  different  individuals  of  the  collection  forming 
each  a  single  stem,  almost  without  branches,  making  an 


THE  WITCH-HAZEL.  345 

outward  curve  a  few  feet  from  the  ground,  and  bending 
inwards  toward  their  summit. 

The  foliage  of  the  Alder  is  homely,  but  not  meagre,  and 
its  color  is  of  a  very  agreeable  tone.  It  is  indeed  a  very 
important  feature  of  the  landscape  in  summer ;  but  in 
autumn  it  remains  unaffected  by  the  general  tinting  of 
the  season,  and  retains  its  verdure  till  the  leaves  fall  to 
the  ground.  Nature  seems  to  regard  this  tree  as  a  plain 
and  useful  servant,  not  to  be  decked  with  beautiful  colors 
or  grand  proportions  for  the  admiration  of  the  world. 
But,  homely  as  it  is,  it  bears  flowers  of  some  beauty. 
These  consist  of  a  profusion  of  purplish  aments  contain- 
ing a  mixture  of  gold,  and  hanging  tremulously  from 
their  slender  sprays.  The  extreme  length  and  flexibility 
of  these  clusters  of  flowers  render  them  exceedingly 
graceful,  and  permit  them  to  be  set  in  motion  by  the 
slightest  breeze.  The  buds  are  seen  hanging  from  the 
branches  all  winter,  ready  to  burst  into  bloom  when 
vivified  by  the  first  breath  of  spring. 


THE   WITCH-HAZEL. 

THE  Witch-Hazel,  or  American  Hamamelis,  has  many 
superficial  points  of  resemblance  to  the  common  alder,  be- 
side its  attachment  to  wet,  muddy  soils.  Its  ramification 
is  peculiar ;  its  side  branches  are  very  short,  and,  like  the 
alder,  it  sends  from  one  root  a  number  of  branches  diverging 
outwards,  but  with  an  inward  curvature  of  their  extremi- 
ties. The  leaves  are  alternate  and  ovate,  narrowest  to- 
ward the  stem  and  feather-veined.  They  turn  to  a  sort  of 
buff-color  just  before  the  flowers  appear,  which  are  yellow, 
having  long  linear  petals,  without  beauty,  growing  in  a 
Cluster  of  four  or  five  in  the  axils  of  the  leaves.  This 

15* 


346  THE  AILANTUS. 

tree  is  worthy  of  attention  chiefly  as  a  curiosity.  Like 
the  witch-elm  of  Great  Britain,  it  was  formerly  used  for 
divining-rods.  Its  magic  powers  might  have  been  sug- 
gested by  its  remarkable  habit  of  bearing  flowers  late  in 
the  autumn,  thereby  reversing  the  general  order  of  nature ; 
also  by  producing  buds,  flowers,  and  fruit  in  perfection  at 
the  same  time.  All  such  phenomena  might  be  supposed 
to  have  some  connection  with  witchcraft 


THE  AILANTUS. 

THE  Ailantus  is  a  native  of  China,  where  it  becomes 
a  very  large  tree,  often  attaining  the  height  of  seventy 
feet.  It  was  imported  into  Great  Britain  more  than  a 
century  ago,  for  the  benefit  of  the  silk  manufacture.  A 
species  of  silkworm,  which  was  known  to  be  hardy  and 
capable  of  forming  its  cocoons  in  the  English  climate,  is 
attached  to  this  tree  and  feeds  upon  its  leaves.  "  The  Bom- 
lyx  cyntTiia"  says  Mongredien,  " thrives  well  in  the  open 
air  (of  England)  in  ordinary  seasons,  and  requires  no  care 
after  being  once  placed  on  the  tree.  About  August  it 
spins  its  cocoon  on  one  of  the  leaflets,  bending  its  edges 
inwards,  so  as  to  form  a  partial  envelope.  As  the  tree  is 
deciduous,  the  leaf  would  drop  and  the  cocoon  with  it, 
were  it  not  that,  by  an  instinct,  the  insect,  before  spinning 
its  cocoon,  attaches  by  its  strongly  adhesive  threads  the 
stalk  of  the  leaf  to  the  woody  twig  that  sustains  it.  Hence 
the  leaves  that  bear  the  cocoons  are  the  only  ones  that  do 
not  drop,  and  there  remain  persistent  through  the  whole 
of  the  winter." 

This  experiment  with  the  Ailantus  proved  a  failure ; 
but  the  tree,  being  very  stately  and  ornamental,  continued 
to  be  cultivated  in  pleasure-grounds.  It  was  introduced 


THE   AILAtfTUS.  347 

into  the  United  States  in  the  early  part  of  this  century, 
and  is  now  very  common  in  almost  all  the  States  as  a 
wayside  tree.  It  possesses  a  great  deal  of  beauty,  being 
surpassed  by  very  few  trees  in  the  size  and  graceful  sweep 
of  its  large  compound  leaves,  that  retain  their  brightness 
and  their  verdure  after  midsummer,  when  our  native  trees 
have  become  dull  and  tarnished. 

The  leaves  of  the  Ailantus  are  pinnate,  containing  from 
nine  to  eleven  leaflets,  each  of  these  being  as  large  as  the 
leaf  of  the  beech-tree.  It  has  a  great  superficial  re- 
semblance to  the  velvet  sumach,  both  in  its  foliage  and 
ramification,  so  that  on  first  sight  one  might  easily  be 
mistaken  for  the  other;  for  its  branches,  though  more 
elegant,  have  the  same  peculiar  twist  that  gives  the  spray 
of  the  sumach  the  appearance  of  a  stag's  horn.  The 
flowers  are  greenish,  inconspicuous,  and  in  upright  pan- 
icles, resembling  those  of  the  poison  sumach.  They  emit 
a  very  disagreeable  odor  while  the  flowers  are  in  perfec- 
tion, impregnating  the  air  for  a  week  or  more. 


/ 


SPONTANEITY. 

WE  are  not  always  aware  of  the  true  sources  of  our 
pleasures,  especially  those  agreeable  sensations  awakened 
by  a  view  of  certain  kinds  of  landscape.  I  believe  the 
sentiment  of  spontaneity,  or  our  love  of  what  seems  true 
to  nature,  to  be  one  of  them ;  and  that  while  the  expres- 
sion of  this  quality  acts  more  powerfully  upon  men  of 
sensitive  minds,  all  are  capable  of  feeling  it.  Spontaneity 
is  the  expression  of  entire  freedom  on  the  part  of  Nature, 
during  the  growth  of  plants,  how  much  soever  her 
free  course  may  have  been  modified  by  circumstances 
previously  affecting  the  soil  and  situation.  Thus  no  less 
spontaneity  may  be  seen  in  the  wildings  that  cover  an 
old  fortification,  or  the  deserted  grounds  of  an  ancient 
garden,  than  in  those  of  a  hill  or  a  valley  which  has  never 
been  disturbed  by  man.  We  all  admire  the  freedom  of 
these  growths ;  but  we  may  not  be  aware  how  much  they 
transcend  in  beauty  the  fairest  works  of  the  planter's 
hand. 

The  connoisseur  of  art  may  object  to  these  views  of  the 
beauty  of  landscape,  because  they  are  based  on  a  senti- 
ment which  is  opposed  to  the  exercise  of  ornamental  art 
for  its  improvement.  A  painter,  however,  if  he  possess 
the  soul  of  his  art,  understands  that  in  a  rural  scene 
every  building  that  forms  part  of  it  must  either  be  plain 
and  simple,  or,  if  highly  ornate,  it  must  be  very  ancient. 
The  antiquity  of  such  a  building  effaces  the  expression 
of  pride  and  pretence  which,  if  it  were  new,  would  be 
painfully  apparent.  But  the  landscape-gardener's  art  has 


SPONTANEITY.  349 

from  its  origin  been  so  exclusively  an  affair  of  princes 
and  nobles,  that  the  ideas  which  are  the  foundation  of  the 
painter's  art  are  almost  unintelligible  to  him.  He  is  a 
purveyor  to  the  wants  of  a  sort  of  rural  epicurism,  and 
of  a  class  of  men  whose  love  of  Nature  would  never  for 
a  moment  cause  them  so  far  to  forget  their  own  personal 
dignity  as  to  allow  her  within  their  grounds  to  wear  any- 
thing but  the  livery  of  their  own  pride. 

One  of  the  most  prominent  qualities  of  an  interesting 
landscape  is  spontaneity,  consisting  not  only  of  a  natural 
irregularity  of  grouping,  but  of  such  plants  as  are  in- 
digenous or  naturalized  to  the  soil  and  situation.  Exotics 
require  so  much  careful  attention  that  no  carelessness  of 
arrangement  could  give  the  assemblage  an  appearance  of 
unrestrained  freedom.  One  great  pattern  of  spontaneity 
is  the  unbroken  wilderness  ;  but  this  is  not  what  we  de- 
sire in  landscape.  Nature  is  greatly  deficient  in  interest 
when  she  exhibits  no  connection  with  human  life.  Her 
original  features  awaken  more  sympathy  when  blended 
with  the  operations  of  a  simple  agriculture.  We  are 
pleased  with  those  modifications  of  landscape  which  are 
required  by  the  unambitious  wants  of  man  in  a  humble 
condition;  while  we  turn  with  aversion  from  those  de- 
signed only  for  embellishment.  We  would  see  the  hills 
and  valleys  clothed,  but  not  ornamented;  for  the  land- 
scape is  not  a  garden,  and  in  proportion  as  the  spon- 
taneous embroidery  of  nature  is  unimpaired  by  the  inter- 
ference of  art  does  it  affect  us  with  pleasure. 

In  the  wilderness,  or  primitive  forest,  vegetation  is 
generally  uniform  in  its  growth ;  but  in  tracts  which  have 
been  once  reduced  to  tillage  and  then  left  to  nature,  it  is 
always  more  or  less  grouped.  We  often  see  in  this  part 
of  the  country  an  irregular  surface,  consisting  of  hill  and 
dale,  rolling  land  and  level  meadows,  once  cultivated  and 
reduced  to  the  purposes  of  agriculture  and  then  left  to 


350  SPONTANEITY. 

nature.  Many  such  tracts  have  been  neglected,  and 
have  lain  fallow  for  the  greater  part  of  a  century.  These 
grounds  now  present  a  fair  example  of  that  spontaneity 
which  is  far  more  attractive  than  the  tangled  and  unin- 
terrupted growth  of  the  original  forest.  The  previous 
subjugation  of  the  soil  has  caused  the  plants  that  have 
since  grown  up  there  to  become  beautifully  grouped  by 
tendencies  which  are  not  entirely  destroyed  by  the  labor 
of  the  rustic  farmer. 

As  the  seeds  of  all  plants  that  originally  occupied  this 
tract  were  destroyed  by  tillage  for  many  successive  years, 
the  ground  must  depend  on  seeds  afterwards  deposited  by 
birds,  quadrupeds,  winds,  and  waters  for  the  renewal  of 
its  vegetation.  Wherever  a  cluster  of  thorny  plants  hap- 
pens to  obtain  root,  it  forms  a  nucleus  where  other 
seeds  are  detained  and  sown.  A  stump  of  a  tree  or  a 
boulder,  or  a  heap  of  stones  or  rubbish,  would  constitute 
the  centre  for  many  similar  clusters.  There  plants  would 
soon  spring  up,  and  become  a  protection  for  others,  which 
would  gradually  widen  the  assemblage,  until  each  would 
become  a  little  islet  of  trees  and  shrubs,  separated  by  the 
intervening  spaces  of  natural  lawn,  pastured  perhaps  by 
domestic  animals,  and  form  a  style  of  spontaneous  group- 
ing which  is  entirely  inimitable. 

Other  similar  tracts,  after  being  cleared  of  wood,  have 
been  left  immediately  to  nature,  before  they  had  suffered 
any  reduction  by  the  plough.  The  renewal  of  the  forest 
in  such  cases  is  always  very  rapid.  The  trees  come  up 
more  closely  and  in  greater  numbers  of  species  than  on 
the  tilled  ground,  but  they  are  not  grouped.  The  soil 
being  full  of  the  stumps  of  trees  in  a  living  state,  and  of 
the  roots  and  seeds  of  many  different  species  of  plants, 
there  is  hardly  a  square  rod  in  any  part  of  the  tract  that 
is  not  crowded  with  trees  and  shrubs  after  a  very  few 
years.  Every  living  stump  of  a  tree  gives  out  several 


SPONTANEITY.  351 

suckers,  that  grow  up  rapidly  into  a  forest  of  dense  cop- 
pice, and  the  seedlings  scattered  among  them  fill  up  all 
the  intermediate  spaces.  Of  these  two  examples  of  spon- 
taneous vegetation,  the  tract  which  has  been  once  reduced 
to  tillage  alone  presents  a  picturesque  or  beautiful  ap- 
pearance. 

The  beauty  of  a  thing  in  landscape  is  often  enhanced 
by  being  in  the  wrong  place.  Human  hands  will  gen- 
erally plant  trees  in  their  right  places  and  in  a  proper 
manner,  and  this  propriety  discovers  the  artist.  Hence 
the  results  of  the  rude  operations  of  rustic  laborers  are 
picturesque,  because  they  plant  nothing  for  embellish- 
ment ;  but  men  of  taste,  while  endeavoring  to  imitate  the 
spontaneity  of  nature,  produce  only  a  ludicrous  counter- 
feit. This  remark  offers  but  poor  encouragement  to  art ; 
but  it  shows  that  there  are  certain  graces  beyond  the 
reach  of  art,  which  are  nevertheless  attainable  by  untu- 
tored hands.  There  is  a  certain  absence  of  congruity  that 
constitutes  the  charm  of  a  spontaneous  scene.  Though 
the  voluptuous  eye  may  be  delighted  with  a  view  of 
smooth-shaven  levels,  kaleidoscopic  figures  cut  out  in 
lawn,  and  the  harmonic  arrangements  of  colors  in  a  flower- 
bed, we  receive  more  passionate  delight  from  the  bramble- 
covered  knolls,  the  daisied  and  half-obstructed  footpaths, 
and  the  wild  vines  and  trees  not  planted  by  hands,  that 
surround  the  homes  of  laboring  men  in  the  country. 


BUKNINO-BUSHES. 

THEEE  is  a  class  of  plants,  not  all  belonging  to  the 
same  genus,  which  have  received  the  name  of  Burning- 
Bushes  from  the  profusion  of  scarlet  or  crimson  fruit 
that  covers  their  branches  after  the  leaves  have  fallen. 
The  most  beautiful  of  these  are  two  species  of  euonymus, 
cultivated  in  gardens  and  ornamental  grounds,  and  bear- 
ing the  names  of  -strawberry-tree,  spindle-tree,  and  burn- 
ing-bush. The  fruit  is  from  three  to  five  cleft,  of  a  pale 
crimson,  and  before  the  leaves  have  dropped,  which  in  the 
autumn  are  nearly  of  the  same  color,  the  tree  might,  at  a 
glance,  be  mistaken  for  a  bush  in  flames.  The  euonymus, 
though  abundant  in  the  forests  of  the  Middle  States,  is 
-not  wild  in  any  part  of  New  England.  Here  it  is  known 
only  as  a  beautiful  occupant  of  gardens. 

Another  of  the  Burning-Bushes  is  the  prinos,  very 
common  in  wet  grounds,  and  known  in  the  winter  by 
the  scarlet  berries,  clinging,  without  any  apparent  stems, 
to  every  twig  and  branch,  and  forming  one  of  the  most 
attractive  objects  in  a  winter  landscape.  Every  part 
of  the  bush  is  closely  covered  with  this  fruit,  which  is 
never  tarnished  by  frost  and  remains  upon  it  until  the 
spring.  This  plant  has  never  received  a  good  specific 
name.  It  is  sometimes  called  winter-berry,  —  a  name 
as  indefinite  as  May-flower  to  mark  species,  or  human 
being  to  distinguish  persons.  It  is  also  called  black 
alder,  because  it  has  a  dark  rind,  to  distinguish  it  from 
the  true  alder,  which  is  also  of  the  same  color. 

The  evergreen  species  is  a  more  elegant  shrub,  with 


THE  BUCKTHOKX.  —  THE  PKIVET.  353 

bright  green  leaves  of  a  fine  lustre.  It  is  abundant  in 
Plymouth  County  in  Massachusetts,  around  New  Bed- 
ford, and  in  Connecticut.  It  it  highly  prized  in  orna- 
mental grounds  and  by  florists,  who  bind  it  into  their 
bouquets  and  garlands  of  cut  flowers.  The  leaves  of 
this  plant  have  some  pleasant  bitter  properties,  and  were 
used  by  our  predecessors  as  a  substitute  for  the  tea  plant, 
under  the  name  of  Apalachian  tea. 


THE  BUCKTHORN. 

THE  Buckthorn  would  hardly  deserve  mention  in  these 
pages,  except  that  it  is  very  generally  employed  for  clipped 
hedge-rows,  in  the  suburbs  of  our  cities.  It  is  a  native 
both  of  Europe  and  America,  though  as  it  is  seen  only 
in  grounds  which  have  formerly  been  cultivated,  or  near 
them,  it  was  probably  introduced.  It  attains  the  height 
of  a  small  tree.  It  is  without  any  beauty,  having  a  thin 
foliage  that  falls  early  and  is  never  tinted.  Its  black 
shining  berries  are  the  only  ornament  it  possesses,  and  its 
only  merit  is  that  of  patiently  enduring  the  shears  of  the 
gardener. 

THE   PRIVET. 

THE  Privet  is  a  much  handsomer  shrub  of  an  allied 
family.  Its  foliage  is  more  delicate,  both  in  hue  and 
texture,  not  so  thin,  and  almost  evergreen.  It  has  be- 
come extensively  naturalized  in  our  woods,  and  is  dis- 
tinguished by  its  clusters  of  white  flowers  in  summer  and 
its  black,  shining  berries  in  autumn.  It  is  abundant  in 
all  lands  once  tilled  which  have  become  wild,  in  the  vicin- 
ity of  our  old  towns,  and  was  probably  introduced  at  an 
early  period  for  an  ornamental  hedge  plant. 

•S  -,- 


WOOD-SCENERY  IN  WINTER 

WINTER  scenery  has  met  with  a  remarkable  share  of 
neglect  both  from  authors  and  painters.  Poets  have  sung 
of  winter  festivals  and  holidays,  of  Christmas  festivities, 
of  garlands  of  holly  and  trailing  evergreens ;  but  they 
have  said  little  in  prose  or  verse  of  the  beauty  or  the 
sublimity  of  the  season's  ordinary  aspects.  More  effort 
has  been  made  to  divert  attention  from  winter,  as  entirely 
disagreeable,  except  within  doors,  than  to  lure  the  mind 
to  its  attractions.  Its  features  have  been  described  as 
only  waste  and  desolate,  and  what  is  really  admirable  in 
them  has  been  set  aside  as  hardly  worthy  of  thought.  It 
is  true  there  is  not  much  variety  in  the  countenance  of 
winter.  Its  expressions  are  wild  and  rude,  and  partake 
more  of  sublimity  than  beauty.  It  presents  an  insufficient 
number  of  individual  objects  that  can  be  brought  to  the 
aid  either  of  painting  or  poetry ;  so  that  the  composition 
must  be  made  up  in  great  degree  by  auxiliaries  drawn 
from  the  imagination. 

Winter  scenery  is  plainly  monotonous.  Instead  of  the 
charming  mosaic  of  agriculture,  displayed  by  summer 
and  autumn  in  assemblages  of  fields,  varying  in  color 
with  the  native  hue  of  their  different  crops,  we  see  either 
a  dull  universal  waste  of  seared  vegetation,  or  one  broad 
expanse  of  whiteness,  relieved  only  by  the  dark  slender 
lines  of  fences  and  the  broader  stripes  of  roads  and  lanes 
winding  over  the  face  of  the  snow,  interspersed  with 
buildings  and  occasional  woods  and  thickets.  It  is  ap- 
parent, however,  that  snow  increases  the  variety  of  the 


WOOD-SCENERY  IN  WINTER.  355 

landscape,  when  it  is  mapped  out  with  groves  and  frag- 
ments of  forest,  resembling  wooded  islets  rising  out  of  a 
white  sea. 

The  charm  of  winter  scenery  is  greatly  heightened  by 
the  clearing  of  the  forest,  which  hides  the  surface  of  the 
snow  and  causes  the  scene  to  wear  less  of  the  aspect  of 
grandeur  than  of  desolation.  Grandeur  characterizes  the 
view  wherever  an  almost  uninterrupted  expanse  of  some 
miles  of  surface  is  completely  whitened  with  snow.  The 
buoyancy  we  feel  when  rambling  over  such  a  landscape 
resembles  that  produced  by  great  altitude.  Our  greater 
physical  vigor  in  clear  winter  weather  prepares  us  to  be 
agreeably  affected  by  surrounding  views,  because  our 
thoughts  are  not  diverted  by  any  sense  of  uncomfortable 
exertion,  as  in  the  languid  heat  of  summer.  Our  con- 
stant transition  from  valley  to  open  plain,  from  plain  to 
hill,  and  from  hill  to  wood,  keeps  the  mind  constantly 
amused  with  new  views.  We  are  also  inspired  by  the 
grandeur  of  the  whole  scene,  and  do  not,  as  in  summer, 
give  ourselves  up  to  voluptuous  sensations,  but  to  en- 
joyments more  purely  intellectual. 

Our  attention  is  not  so  often  directed  to  the  beauty  of 
trees  in  their  denuded  state,  as  when  they  are  dressed  in 
foliage  and  adorned  with  flowers  and  fruit.  But  when  we 
consider  that  for  six  months  of  the  year  all  the, deciduous 
trees,  constituting  the  greater  part  of  the  woods,  are  leaf- 
less, we  cannot  regard  their  appearance  at  this  time  as  an 
unimportant  study.  When  trees  are  in  leaf  their  primary 
qualities  as  objects  in  landscape  are  apparent ;  but  many 
secondary  points  of  beauty  are  almost  entirely  hidden 
under  this  mass  of  foliage.  In  winter,  when  the  whole 
frame  of  the  tree  is  exposed  to  view,  the  delicate  sculpture, 
the  forms,  the  angles,  and  the  divergences  of  their  branches, 
present  to  sight  an  infinite  variety  of  picturesque  ap- 
pearances. 


356  WOOD-SCENERY  IN  WINTER. 

There  are  certain  trees,  however,  which  are  almost  ugly 
in  winter,  though  very  beautiful  in  their  summer  dress. 
We  see  nothing  attractive  in  the  horse-chestnut,  the  su- 
mach, the  catalpa,  and  the  ash,  in  their  denuded  state,  when 
the  coarseness  and  deformity  of  their  spray  become  their 
salient  points.  Of  these  the  horse-chestnut  and  the 
catalpa  are  not  surpassed  in  beauty  when  they  are  in 
flower,  nor  the  sumach  in  its  autumnal  dress,  nor  the  ash 
either  in  summer  or  autumn.  There  is  as  great  a  variety 
in  the  style  of  the  frame  and  framework  of  different  trees 
as  in  the  forms  and  colors  of  their  leaves  and  flowers. 
Indeed,  in  some  respects,  trees  are  a  more  interesting  study 
in  their  denuded  state  than  when  dressed  in  foliage.  In 
this  condition  single  trees  become  more  special  objects  of 
attention  than  assemblages.-  Yet  it  is  in  winter  that  we 
perceive  to  the  best  advantage  the  characters  of  a  forest 
vista.  As  we  pass  under  the  interlacing  branches  of  the 
trees,  we  observe  that  peculiar  arch  formed  by  the  meet- 
ing and  contact  of  those  on  opposite  sides  of  an  avenue. 
We  see  this  appearance  only  in  a  wide  avenue,  where  the 
trees  have  grown  since  it  was  laid  out.  In  the  pathless 
wood,  or  in  a  path  made  through  the  forest  after  the  trees 
have  attained  maturity,  they  have  no  well-formed  lateral 
branches,  and  display  above  our  heads  only  a  formless 
canopy. 

We  may  observe  in  the  spray  of  different  trees  an  in- 
variable correspondence  with  some  of  their  other  charac- 
ters. Nut-bearers,  for  example,  have  a  coarser  spray  than 
small  seed-bearers ;  trees  with  large  or  compound  leaves, 
than  those  with  small  or  simple  foliage;  and  trees  with 
opposite,  than  those  with  alternate  branches.  Hence  the 
oak  and  the  hickory  have  a  coarser  spray  than  the  birch 
and  the  elm,  and  the  large-leaved  poplar  than  the  slender- 
leaved  willow ;  the  ash,  with  compound  leaves,  than  the 
maple  with  simple  leaves,  though  both  have  opposite 


WOOD-SCENERY  IN  WINTER.  357 

branches.  But  if  a  tree  bears  a  large  nut,  with  leaves 
compound  and  branches  opposite,  like  the  horse-chestnut, 
it  has  no  spray  at  all.  The  beech-tree,  however,  having  a 
very  small  nut,  has  a  fine  and  elegant  spray,  not  sur- 
passed by  any  tree  of  the  forest.  The  opposite  charac- 
ter of  the  smaller  branches  of  certain  trees  is  never  con- 
tinued in  the  larger  divisions.  But  the  angularity  of  the 
boughs  of  the  oak  is  repeated  in  its  angular  spray,  and 
the  gracefulness  of  the  principal  branches  of  the  elm,  the 
birch,  and  the  lime  is  traced  through  all  their  minute 
subdivisions. 

All  these  phenomena  are  interesting  subjects  of  obser- 
vation in  winter  wood-scenery.  But  the  geometric  beauty 
of  the  spray  of  trees  is  hardly  less  remarkable  than  its 
different  colors.  A  maple  wood,  for  example,  is  gray ;  a 
poplar  wood  is  greenish  olive ;  a  wood  consisting  chiefly 
of  limes,  black  birches,  and  cherry-trees  has  a  dark  shade. 
These  differences  of  coloring,  as  seen  in  masses,  when 
viewing  the  wood  from  an  elevated  stand,  often  excite 
the  surprise  of  spectators ;  for  it  is  only  the  most  careful 
observers  who  have  noticed  this  variety  of  shades.  In 
many  assemblages  of  wood  that  consist  of  an  evenly  pro- 
miscuous combination  of  species,  we  observe  no  such 
picturesque  marks  of  distinction.  But  in  all  unique  as- 
semblages, of  which  our  land  affords  very  frequent  exam- 
ples, the  differences  between  a  maple,  a  poplar,  a  willow, 
and  a  lime  grove  are  respectively  very  striking.  The 
study  of  these  shades  is  of  considerable  importance  to  the 
painter  who  should  wish  to  give  a  true  representation  of 
a  winter  landscape,  with  reference  chiefly  to  its  wood. 

Some  of  my  most  delightful  wood  rambles  have  been 
taken  in  the  winter,  which  has  always  seemed  to  me  less 
a  season  of  melancholy  than  autumn.  The  sadness  we 
feel  while  the  leaves  are  falling  around  us  and  the  light 
of/noon  seems  but  an  ominous  twilight  passes  away  after 


358  WOOD-SCENERY  IN  WINTER. 

these  changes  are  completed ;  we  resume  our  cheerfulness, 
and  look  forward  in  pleasant  anticipation  of  spring.  I  have 
never  allowed  the  winter  to  interfere  with  my  rambling, 
save  when  the  cold  was  intense,  the  weather  wet  or  stormy, 
or  the  snow  too  deep  for  pedestrian  excursions.  These  diffi- 
culties are  seldom  in  the  way  for  more  than  a  fourth  part 
of  the  season.  When  the  snow  has  been  hardened  by 
repeated  freezing  and  thawing  so  as  to  bear  our  footsteps, 
or  when  the  ground  is  bare,  a  winter  walk  affords  positive 
pleasure.  At  such  times  I  have  often  passed  a  day  in  the 
woods,  not  only  to  enjoy  the  physical  pleasure  of  air  and 
exercise  and  the  sweet  odors  of  the  pines,  but  also  to  note 
the  changes  in  the  face  of  nature,  and  the  manners  and 
habits  of  the  few  remaining  birds  and  quadrupeds. 

One  of  the  most  noted  circumstances  attending  a  win- 
ter ramble  in  the  woods  is  their  silence.  But  this  silence 
is  an  aid  to  thought  as  well  as  observation,  and  gives  im- 
portance to  every  sound,  as  the  white  snow  gives  promi- 
nence to  visual  objects.  "When  the  winter  sun  is  bright 
and  the  chilly  atmosphere  is  calm,  we  may  listen  to 
the  distant  village  hum  with  a  sensation  of  melody ;  and 
we  catch  the  gurgling  sounds  of  streams  under  the  glisten- 
ing ice,  and  the  voices  of  jubilant  echoes,  that  send  back 
in  the  general  stillness  every  sound  that  penetrates  their 
secret  shell.  The  crumpling  of  the  hardened  snow  under 
our  feet  produces  a  tone  that  silence  alone  could  turn 
to  music ;  and  the  rustling  of  every  zephyr  seems  like 
a  living  note  in  this  solitude.  The  occasional  voices  of 
winter  birds  have  a  charm  hardly  less  delightful  than  the 
melodies  of  June,  when  every  note  is  but  the  part  of  a 
general  chorus.  In  winter  we  listen  to  sounds  because 
they  are  few.  Even  the  lowing  of  herds  is  musical,  re- 
minding us  that  our  present  solitude  is  encompassed  by 
life  and  civilization. 

The  wood  is  no  longer  a  green  recess,  a  temple  of  leafy 


WOOD-SCENERY  IN  WINTER.  359 

beauty,  a  sanctuary  of  shade,  an  orchestra  of  melodious 
voices.  There  is  perhaps  less  solemnity  within  it  than 
when  it  is  darkened  by  overarching  foliage.  The  sun 
shines  into  it  and  renders  some  little  nooks  more  cheerful 
than  at  any  other  season.  I  have  often  lingered  in  one  of 
these  sunny  retreats  to  watch  the  chickadees  and  wood- 
peckers, that  never  fail  to  appear  in  sight,  diligently  ex- 
ploring every  branch  of  the  neighboring  trees.  It  is 
pleasant  to  woo  this  solitude  when  thus  enlivened  by  the 
sun,  to  saunter  along  the  turfy  wood-paths,  still  green 
with  clumps  of  moss  and  lycopodium,  to  look  up  into 
the  lofty  trees  which  have  parted  with  their  shade,  ob- 
serving the  sculptured  elegance  of  their  limbs  and  the 
intricate  beauty  of  their  spray;  pondering  on  the  rare 
carvings  of  their  bark,  broken  into  many  geometrical 
forms,  and  the  curious  devices  of  nature  displayed  in  the 
incrustations  upon  their  surface. 

Sometimes  a  solitary  evergreen  stands  in  our  way,  shed- 
ding upon  the  hoary  wood  some  of  the  greenness  of  sum- 
mer. We  should  know  but  half  of  what  is  open  to 
observation  if  we  never  visited  the  forest  in  the  winter, 
and  we  should  miss  one  of  the  most  remarkable  features 
of  a  winter  landscape  if  the  coniferous  evergreens  were 
absent  from  it.  Sad  and  sombre  as  they  appear  when  the 
deciduous  trees  are  putting  forth  -their  light-green  leaves, 
they  are  great  heighteners  of  the  beauty  of  a  winter  scene, 
and  are  more  valuable  than  any  other  woods  as  a  protec- 
tion from  wind  and  cold. 


/ 


THE  LAECH. 

THE  Larch,  though  one  of  the  coniferous  trees,  is  not 
an  evergreen.  It  is  generally  known  in  this  country  as 
the  Hacmatack,  a  name  given  it  by  the  Indians.  In  favor- 
able situations  it  attains  a  great  height,  though  we  are 
familiar  with  it  as  a  tree  of  but  ordinary  size  and 
stature.  Its  branches  are  very  numerous,  and  irregularly 
disposed  at  right  angles  with  the  main  stem,  and  not  in 
very  apparent  whorls.  The  terminal  branches  are  small 
and  numerous,  making  considerable  spray,  but  without 
much  character.  The  American  and  the  European  Larch 
do  not  differ  in  their  manner  of  putting  forth  their  larger 
branches,  nor  in  their  botanical  characters.  They  are 
distinguished,  however,  by  an  important  difference  in 
the  style  of  their  secondary  branches.  The  European  tree 
has  a  graceful  hanging  spray,  drooping  perpendicularly 
from  its  horizontal  boughs,  and  swinging  in  the  wind 
like  that  of  the  Norway  spruce.  The  American  tree  has 
a  shorter  spray,  not  in  the  least  pendent,  with  an  appear- 
ance of  more  sturdiness,  and  less  formality  of  outline.  It 
displays,  therefore,  less  of  that  beauty  which  is  caused  by 
flowing  lines  ;  on  the  other  hand,  it  exhibits  more  firmness 
in  its  general  aspect,  and  is  a  more  stately  tree.  I  prefer 
the  American  Larch  because  it  departs  further  from  that 
primness  which  distinguishes  the  coniferous  trees.  As  it 
increases  in  height,  it  loses  its  tapering  summit,  and  forms 
a  head  of  flattened  and  irregular  shape. 

The  Larch  bears  no  part  in  romantic  history.  Neither 
the  ancient  poets  nor  historians  say  much  about  it. 


THE  LARCH.  361 

Hence  it  is  probable  that  it  was  not  abundant  in  the  for- 
ests of  the  southern  part  of  Europe  in  the  days  of  Homer 
and  Virgil.  Even  its  importance  in  furnishing  the  most 
durable  wood  for  naval  purposes  is  a  discovery  of  modern 
times,  and  not  until  a  very  late  period  was  it  employed 
as  an  ornamental  tree.  The  Larch  is  reputed  in  Europe 
to  surpass  all  other  trees  as  a  fertilizer  of  the  soil  by  the 
decomposition  of  its  foliage.  Another  of  its  advantages, 
when  used  for  plantations,  is  its  thrifty  habit  on  lofty 
sites,  having  a  more  elevated  range  than  any  other  tree 
of  equal  importance.  Gilpin  remarks  of  the  European 
tree :  "  It  claims  the  Alps  and  the  Apennines  for  its  native 
country,  where  it  thrives  in  higher  regions  of  the  air  than 
any  other  tree  of  its  consequence  is  known  to  do,  hanging 
over  rocks  and  precipices  which  have  never  been  visited 
by  human  feet.  Often  it  is  felled  by  some  Alpine  peasant 
and  thrown  athwart  some  yawning  chasm,  where  it  affords 
a  tremendous  passage  from  cliff  to  cliff,  while  the  cataract, 
roaring  many  fathoms  below,  is  seen  only  in  surges  of  ris- 
ing vapor." 

The  American  Larch  tends  to  uniformity  of  shape  when 
young  and  to  variety  when  old.  Yet  the  fine  pyrami- 
dal forms  of  the  young  trees,  and  the  fantastic  and  ir- 
regular shapes  of  those  of  older  growth,  are  equally  char- 
acteristic. The  foliage  is  of  a  light  green  with  a  bluish 
tinge,  turning  to  a  deep  orange  in  November,  just  before  it 
falls.  The  bright  crimson  cones  of  the  Larch,  that  appear 
in  June,  may  be  reckoned  among  its  minor  beauties.  This 
tree  is  more  abundant  in  Maine  and  New  Hampshire  than 
in  any  other  part  of  the  United  States,  though  even  there 
it  is  scarce  compared  with  other  conifers.  Above  the  St. 
Lawrence,  however,  as  far  as  Hudson's  Bay,  it  forms  as- 
semblages of  several  miles  in  extent. 


/ 


THE  HEMLOCK. 

THE  Hemlock  is  confessedly  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
of  the  coniferous  evergreens,  though  rather  narrow  in  its 
dimensions.  The  principal  branches  are  small  and  short 
with  very  slender  terminations,  in  which  it  differs  from  all 
the  other  spruces.  The  multitude  of  these  slender  sprays, 
and  their  rows  of  soft  delicate  leaves,  cause  those  beauti- 
ful undulations  that  characterize  the  foliage  of  this  tree 
when  moved  by  the  wind.  The  leaves,  of  a  light  green  on 
their  upper  surface  and  of  a  silvery  whiteness  beneath, 
are  arranged  in  a  row  on  each  side  of  the  branchlets. 
But  while  those  of  the  other  spruces  are  sessile,  those  of  the 
Hemlock  have  slender  footstalks,  yielding  them  a  slight 
mobility.  The  spangled  glitter  of  the  foliage  is  caused  by 
a  slightly  tremulous  motion  of  the  terminal  sprays. 

In  a  deep  wood  the  Hemlock  shows  some  very  im- 
portant defects.  There  it  forms  a  shaft  from  fifty  to 
eighty  feet  in  height  without  any  diminution  of  its  size, 
until  near  the  summit,  where  it  tapers  suddenly,  forming  a 
head  of  foliage  that  projects  considerably  above  the  gen- 
eral level  of  the  forest.  The  trunk  is  covered  with  dead 
branches  projecting  from  it  on  all  sides,  causing  it  to  wear 
a  very  unsightly  appearance  ;  and  when  the  tree  is  sawed 
into  boards,  they  are  found  to  extend  directly  through  the 
sapwood  of  the  tree,  making  a  hole  in  it  as  round  as  if  it 
were  bored  with  an  auger.  This  is  caused  by  the  con- 
tinued growth  of  the  trunk  of  the  tree  after  the  decay  of 
its  branches,  every  year  forming  a  new  circle  round  the 
branch,  but  not  inosculating  with  it,  as  in  other  trees. 


rather 
i 

.n  which  i< 


Th« 

. 


branch 


iial  spra 

forms  a  shaft  fron 
diminutioji  c 
,;rs  suddenly, 

ik  is  covered 

i  the  tre 
:  ectly  tl 


/ 


PINE  WOODS. 

I  HAVE  often  thought  of  the  pleasure  I  should  feel  on 
entering  a  forest  of  tree-ferns,  and  observing  their  ele- 
gant fronds  spread  out  above  my  head,  displaying  a 
form  of  vegetation  never  witnessed  except  in  a  tropical 
country.  Yet  I  doubt  whether  an  assemblage  of  tree- 
ferns,  a  grove  of  magnolias,  or  an  island  of  palms  could 
equal  a  forest  of  pines  in  the  expression  of  grandeur  and 
solemnity.  A  pine  wood  possesses  characters  entirely 
unique,  and  affects  us  with  sensations  which  nothing 
else  in  nature  seems  capable  of  inspiring.  Whether 
this  arises  from  the  contrast  between  the  light  outside 
and  the  darkness  within,  —  a  certain  harmonious  blending 
of  cheerfulness  and  gloom,  —  or  from  the  novelty  of  the 
whole  scene,  there  comes  up  from  every  deep  recess  and 
shadowy  arbor,  every  dripping  dell,  every  mossy  fountain, 
and  every  open  glen  throughout  the  wood,  an  indescribable 
charm.  Notwithstanding  the  darkness  of  its  interior,  and 
the  sombre  character  of  its  dense  masses  of  evergreen  foli- 
age, as  seen  from  without, — whence  the  name  of  Hack 
timber,  which  has  been  applied  to  it,  —  yet  the  shade  and 
shelter  it  affords,  and  the  sentiment  of  grandeur  it  in- 
spires, cause  it  to  be  allied  with  the  most  profound  and 
agreeable  sensations. 

In  a  pine  wood  Nature  presents  one  of  her  most  re- 
markable features ;  and  there  is  so  much  that  is  healthful 
and  delightful  in  its  emanations,  and  in  the  atmosphere 
that  is  diffused  around  it,  that  she  has  not  denied  its  bene- 
fits to  any  clime.  Pines  are  found  in  every  latitude 


366  PINE  WOODS. 

save  the  equatorial  region,  where  the  broad-leaved  palms 
supply  the  same  enduring  shade.  Even  there  pines  are 
distributed  over  the  mountains  at  a  height  corresponding 
with  the  northern  temperate  zone.  Nature  has  spread 
these  trees  widely  over  the  earth,  that  the  inhabitants 
of  the  sunny  South  and  the  inhospitable  North  may  equally 
derive  benefit  from  their  protection  and  their  products. 
There  is  not  a  region  this  side  of  the  equator,  where  a 
man  may  not  kneel  down  under  the  fragrant  shade  of 
a  pine  wood,  and  thank  the  Author  of  nature  for  this 
beneficent  gift. 

In  New  England  the  white  pine  usually  predominates 
in  our  evergreen  woods,  mixed  in  greater  or  less  degree 
with  pitch-pine  and  fir.  In  the  gracefulness  of  its 
foliage,  in  its  lofty  stature  and  the  beautiful  symmetry 
of  its  wide-spread  branches,  the  white  pine  exceeds  all 
other  species.  But  the  balsamic  fragrance  that  is  so 
agreeable  to  travellers  when  journeying  over  the  sandy 
tracts  of  some  parts  of  New  England  comes  from  the 
more  homely  pitch-pine.  These  odors  greet  our  senses 
at  all  seasons,  but  chiefly  during  the  prevalence  of  a  still 
south-wind,  and  are  in  a  different  manner  almost  as 
charming  as  a  beautiful  prospect. 

In  a  dense  pine  wood  we  observe  certain  peculiarities 
of  light  and  shade  seldom  seen  in  a  deciduous  wood. 
The  foliage  that  forms  the  canopy  over  our  heads  is 
so  closely  woven,  that,  wherever  an  opening  occurs,  the 
light  pours  into  it  with  distinct  outlines  of  shadow,  very 
much  as  it  shines  into  a  dark  room  through  a  half-opened 
shutter.  These  sudden  gleams  of  light,  blending  with 
the  all-pervading  shadow  in  which  we  are  involved,  deep- 
en all  our  sensations,  and  cause  us  to  feel  a  little  of 
that  religious  awe  which  is  inspired  when  passing  under 
the  interior  arches  of  a  cathedral.  The  presence  of  a 
group  of  deciduous  trees  always  becomes  apparent  at 


PINE  WOODS.  367 

some  distance  before  we  reach  it,  by  the  flickering  lights 
among  their  loose  foliage,  and  a  general  brightness  and 
cheerfulness  in  the  space  occupied  by  the  group. 

There  are  many  other  agreeable  circumstances  con- 
nected with  a  pine  wood.  The  foliage  that  drops  from 
the  trees,  after  the  new  growth  of  leaves  has  been  put 
forth,  covers  the  ground  with  a  smooth  brown  matting, 
as  comfortable  to  the  footsteps  as  a  gravel  walk,  while  it 
savors  only  of  nature.  The  acicular  foliage  of  the  pine 
is  so  hard  and  durable,  that  in  summer  we  always  find 
the  last  year's  crop  lying  upon  the  ground  in  a  state  of 
perfect  soundness,  and  under  it  that  of  the  preceding  year 
only  partially  decayed.  This  bed  of  foliage  is  so  com- 
pact as  to  prevent  the  growth  of  underbrush;  and  it 
keeps  the  space  open  under  the  trees,  whose  tall  shafts 
resemble  pillars  rising  out  of  the  floor  of  a  magnificent 
temple.  Hence  a  pine  wood  is  pleasantly  accessible  to 
the  rambler  and  the  student  of  nature ;  and  the  absence 
of  a  woody  undergrowth  permits  many  plants  of  a  pe- 
culiar character  to  thrive  upon  this  carpeted  ground.  The 
purple  cypripedia  is  common  here,  pushing  up  its  leaves 
through  this  mass  of  decayed  foliage,  and  displaying  its 
beautiful  inflated  blossoms  like  some  bright  flower  of  a 
fairer  clime.  Mushrooms  of  various  species  and  of  divers 
fantastic  shapes  are  frequent  as  we  pass,  some  spreading 
out  their  hoods  like  a  parasol,  some  with  a  dragon-like 
aspect,  others  perfectly  globular,  all  having  a  great  diver- 
sity of  hues.  In  the  deeper  wood,  where  there  is  no  sun- 
shine to  green  the  sprouting  herbs,  appears  that  rare  genus 
of  plants  resembling  the  pale  and  sickly  slaves  of  the 
mine,  —  the  grotesque  and  singular  monotropa. 

In  an  old  pine  wood  our  attention  is  diverted  by  the 
great  variety  of  lichens  that  incrust  the  bark  of  the  trees 
and  hang  from  their  boughs.  Many  rare  species  decorate 
the  trees  with  their  tufts,  circles,  and  protuberances,  and 


368  PINE  WOODS. 

their  curiously  painted  dots  and  patches.  All  green  herbs, 
however,  are  checked  in  their  growth  by  the  darkness  of 
the  wood.  The  verdure  of  a  pine  wood  is  chiefly  over  our 
heads;  there  is  but  little  under  our  feet.  But  the  few 
plants  whose  habits  permit  them  to  grow  here  are  the 
more  conspicuous  because  they  are  not  mingled  with  a 
crowded  assemblage  of  different  species.  Hence  the 
little  creeping  michella,  with  its  checkered  green  leaves, 
its  twin  flowers  resembling  heath-blossoms,  and  its  scarlet 
fruit,  is  very  beautiful,  clustering  at  the  roots  of  some  tall 
pine,  or  garlanding  some  prostrate  tree  covered  with 
mosses  that  mark  its  decay. 

In  the  Southern  States,  extensive  regions  called  "  pine 
barrens  "  form  a  very  conspicuous  part  of  the  scenery. 
Their  growth  at  the  present  time  is  seldom  so  dense  as 
that  of  a  Northern  pine  wood.  Whole  forests  are  so 
thinly  set  that  you  may  drive  some  miles  through  them 
on  horseback.  Still  in  these  pine  barrens  there  is  the 
same  breathing  of  solemnity  that  makes  a  Northern  pine 
wood  so  impressive.  The  tall,  gaunt,  and  grotesque  forms 
of  the  trees,  the  flat,  interminable  plains  which  they  occu- 
py, the  dark  drapery  of  moss  that  hangs  from  their  boughs, 
their  silence  and  solitude  and  their  primitive  wildness, 
yield  the  scene  an  expression  of  melancholy  grandeur  that 
cannot  be  described.  Occasionally  a  log-hut  varies  the 
prospect,  as  primitive  in  its  appearance  as  the  wood. 

The  pine  barrens  of  the  Southern  States  are  celebrated 
as  healthful  retreats  for  the  inhabitants  of  the  seaports, 
whither  they  resort  in  summer  to  escape  the  prevailing 
fevers.  They  are  generally  of  a  mixed  character,  consist- 
ing of  the  Northern  pitch-pine,  the  long-leaved  pine,  and  a 
few  other  species,  intermixed  with  the  Southern  cypress, 
occasional  red  maples,  and  a  few  other  deciduous  trees. 
Pines,  however,  constitute  the  dominant  growth ;  but  the 
trees  are,  for  the  most  part,  widely  separated,  so  that  the 


PINE  WOODS.  369 

surface  is  green  with  herbs  and  grasses,  and  often  covered 
with  flowers.  The  thinness  of  these  woods  may  be  attrib- 
uted to  the  practice,  for  two  centuries  past,  of  tapping  the 
trees  for  turpentine,  causing  their  gradual  decay.  Their 
tall  forms  and  branchless  trunks  show  that  they  obtained 
their  principal  growth  in  a  dense  wood. 

The  first  visit  I  made  to  the  pine  barrens  was  after  a 
long  ride  by  railroad  through  the  plains  of  North  Carolina. 
It  was  night ;  and  I  often  looked  from  the  car  windows 
into  the  darkness,  made  still  more  affecting  by  the  sight 
of  the  tall  pines  that  raised  their  heads  almost  into  the 
clouds,  like  monsters  watching  the  progress  of  our  jour- 
ney. The  prospect  was  rendered  almost  invisible  by  the 
darkness  that  gave  prominence  to  the  dusky  forms  of  the 
trees  as  they  were  pictured  against  the  half-luminous  sky. 
At  length  the  day  began  to  break,  and  the  morning  beams 
revealed  to  my  sight  an  immense  wilderness  of  giant 
spectres.  The  cars  made  a  pause  at  this  hour,  allowing 
the  passengers  to  step  outside ;  and  while  absorbed  in  the 
contemplation  of  this  desolate  region,  suddenly  the  loud 
and  mellow  tones  of  the  mocking-bird  came  to  my  ears, 
and,  as  if  by  enchantment,  reversed  the  character  of  my 
thoughts.  The  desert,  no  longer  a  solitude,  inspired  me 
with  emotions  of  unspeakable  delight.  Morning  never 
seemed  so  lovely  as  when  the  rising  sun,  with  his  golden 
beams  and  lengthened  shadows,  was  greeted  by  this 
warbling  salutation,  as  from  some  messenger  of  light 
who  seemed  to  announce  that  Nature  over  all  scenes  has 
extended  her  beneficence,  and  to  all  regions  of  the  earth 
dispenses  her  favors  and  her  smiles. 

At  the  end  of  my  journey  I  took  a  stroll  into  the  wood. 
It  was  in  the  month  of  June,  when  vegetation  was  in  its 
prime,  before  it  was  seared  by  the  summer  drought. 
Many  beautiful  shrubs  were  conspicuous  with  their 
flowers,  though  the  wood  contained  but  a  small  propor- 


370  PINE  WOODS. 

tion  of  shrubby  undergrowth.  D uring  my  botanical  rambl es 
in  this  wood,  I  was  struck  with  the  multitude  of  flowers  in 
its  shady  arbors,  seeming  the  more  numerous  to  me  as  I 
had  previously  confined  my  observations  to  Northern  woods. 
The  phlox  grew  here  in  all  its  native  delicacy,  where  it 
had  never  known  the  fostering  hand  of  man.  Crimson 
rhexias  —  called  by  the  inhabitants  deerweed  —  were  dis- 
tributed among  the  grassy  knolls,  like  clusters  of  picotees. 
Variegated  passion-flowers  were  conspicuous  on  the  bare 
white  sand  that  checkered  the  green  surface,  displaying 
their  emblematic  forms  on  their  low  repent  vines,  and 
reminding  the  wanderer  in  these  solitudes  of  that  faith 
which  was  founded  on  humility  and  crowned  with  mar- 
tyrdom. Here  too  the  spiderwort  of  our  gardens,  in  a 
meeker  form  of  beauty  and  a  paler  radiance,  luxuriated 
under  the  protection  of  the  wood.  I  observed  also  the 
predominance  of  luxuriant  vines,  indicating  our  near  ap- 
proach to  the  tropics,  rearing  themselves  upon  the  tall 
and  naked  shafts  of  the  trees,  some,  like  the  bignonia,  in 
a  full  blaze  of  crimson,  others,  like  the  climbing  fern, 
draping  the  trees  in  perennial  verdure. 


THE  FIR 

THE  Fir  and  the  spruce  are  readily  distinguished  from 
the  pine  by  their  botanical  characters  and  by  those  gen- 
eral marks  which  are  apparent  to  common  observers. 
They  have  shorter  leaves  than  the  pine,  not  arranged  in 
fascicles,  but  singly  and  in  rows  along  the  branch.  The 
cones  of  the  American  species  are  smaller  than  those  of 
the  pine,  and  they  ripen  their  seeds  every  year;  their 
lateral  branches  are  smaller  and  more  numerous,  and  are 
given  out  more  horizontally.  They  are  taller  in  propor- 
tion to  their  spread,  and  more  regularly  pyramidal  in  their 
outlines.  The  principal  generic  distinction  between  the 
Fir  and  the  spruce  is  the  manner  in  which  they  bear 
their  cones ;  those  of  the  Fir  stand  erect  upon  their 
branch,  while  those  of  the  spruce  are  suspended  from  it. 
Botanists  have  lately  separated  the  spruce  from  the  Fir, 
which  they  describe  under  the  generic  name  of  Picea, 
As  my  descriptions  of  trees  are  physiognomical  rather 
than  botanical,  I  shall  have  no  occasion  to  adopt  or  to 
reject  this  innovation.  The  spruces,  however,  are  always 
described  by  travellers  as  firs.  Whenever  they  speak  of 
Fir  woods,  they  include  in  them  both  the  Fir  and  the 
spruce. 

THE  BALSAM  FIR. 

This  tree  is  the  American  representative  of  the  silver  fir 
of  Europe,  but  is  inferior  to  it  in  all  respects.  The  silver 
fir  is  one  of  the  tallest  trees  on  the  continent  of  Europe, 
remarkable  for  the  beauty  of  its  form  and  foliage,  and  for 


372  THE  FIE. 

the  value  of  its  timber.  The  American  tree  is  inferior  to 
it  in  height,  in  density  of  foliage,  in  longevity,  and  in  the 
durability  of  its  wood.  Both  trees,  however,  display  the 
same  general  characters  to  observation,  having  a  bluish- 
green  foliage,  with  a  silvery  under  surface,  closely  ar- 
ranged upon  the  branches,  that  curve  gracefully  upward 
at  the  extremities.  The  secondary  branches  have  the 
same  upward  curvature,  never  hanging  down  in  the  formal 
manner  of  the  Norway  spruce.  There  is  an  airiness  in  its 
appearance  that  is  quite  charming,  and  to  a  certain  extent 
makes  amends  for  its  evident  imperfections.  When  the 
Balsam  Fir  is  young,  it  is  very  neat  and  pretty ;  but  as 
it  advances  in  years  it  becomes  bald,  and  displays  but 
little  foliage  except  on  the  extremities  of  the  branches. 
This  is  a  remarkable  defect  in  many  of  this  family  of 
trees.  European  writers  complain  of  it  in  the  silver  fir. 
It  is  observed  in  the  hemlock,  except  in  favorable  situa- 
tions, and  in  the  black  spruce,  but  in  a  less  degree  in  the 
white  and  Norway  spruces. 


GKANDEUK  AND  SUBLIMITY. 

MANY  of  our  most  agreeable  emotions  are  but  modifica- 
tions of  a  painful  sensation ;  and  in  this  respect  there  is 
a  remarkable  analogy  between  our  mental  and  our  phys- 
ical being.  While  a  small  portion  of  certain  substances 
will  act  agreeably  and  healthfully  upon  the  organs  of 
taste  and  assimilation,  an  excess  would  be  offensive  and 
perhaps  fatal.  Light,  the  source  of  all  visual  pleasure, 
would  in  a  certain  excess  produce  blindness ;  and  circum- 
stances that  excite  terror  may,  when  combined  with  a 
consciousness  of  security,  awaken  the  agreeable  emotion 
of  sublimity.  Such  are  the  effects  produced  by  the 
sound  of  thunder  at  a  great  distance ;  but  when  it  is 
crashing  directly  over  our  heads,  the  feeling  of  sublimity 
is  changed  to  that  of  terror.  In  like  manner,  the  intense 
grief  we  feel  from  the  death  of  a  friend,  when  partially 
subdued  by  time,  becomes  modified  into  an  agreeable 
sentiment  of  reverence  for  the  dead ;  and  though  the 
passion  of  anger  is  painful,  that  mollified  anger  which  is 
termed  indignation  becomes  pleasant  by  stimulating  the 
mind  with  healthful  resolutions. 

The  sentiment  of  grandeur  seems  to  me  to  differ  very 
considerably  from  that  of  sublimity,  inasmuch  as  the  one 
is  a  modification  of  agreeable  and  the  other  of  painful 
sensations.  I  have  remarked  in  another  essay  that  a 
certain  number  of  figures  harmoniously  arranged  awaken 
the  emotion  of  beauty.  If  these  images,  especially  if 
they  are  brilliant,  should  be  infinitely  multiplied,  their 
excessive  multiplication  exalts  our  sense  of  beauty  to 


374  GRANDEUR  AND   SUBLIMITY. 

that  of  grandeur.  A  discernment  of  their  disposition  and 
properties  is  necessary  to  enable  us  to  feel  the  beauty  of 
certain  harmonic  figures ;  but  the  feeling  of  grandeur  is 
more  indefinite.  A  few  meteors,  or  falling  stars,  are  con- 
fessedly beautiful ;  let  them  be  multiplied  so  as  to  cover 
all  the  visible  heavens,  and  our  sensations  would  be 
raised  to  the  point  of  grandeur.  But  if  at  the  same  time 
we  believed  that  this  meteoric  shower  portended  an  im- 
mediate national  calamity,  the  pathos  mingled  with  the 
phenomenon  by  our  superstitious  fear  would  turn  our 
emotion  of  grandeur  into  that  of  sublimity.  I  know  it 
is  not  usual  to  make  any  considerable  distinction  between 
these  two  sentiments ;  but  it  seems  to  me  perfectly  com- 
patible with  the  general  usage  of  the  two  words  to  dis- 
tinguish them.  A  certain  excess  of  those  qualities  that 
produce  a  sense  of  physical  beauty,  as  an  infinite  multi- 
plication of  beautiful  lights,  causes  the  emotion  of  gran- 
deur. On  the  other  hand,  a  dim  discernment  or  sensation 
of  the  awful  or  the  terrible  causes  the  emotion  of  sub- 
limity. "We  may  apply  the  same  remarks  to  sounds.  A 
loud  crash  of  harmonious  and  musical  sounds  produces  a 
sense  of  grandeur ;  an  equally  loud  combination  of  dis- 
cordant sounds,  so  far  distant  as  not  to  excite  terror, 
awakens  a  sense  of  sublimity.  Grandeur  is  purely  exhil- 
arating; sublimity,  though  certainly  an  agreeable  senti- 
ment, is  always  more  or  less  depressing. 

Sounds  are  more  frequently  a  cause  of  the  sublime  than 
sights,  because  the  ear  is  a  more  emotional  organ  than  the 
eye.  Music  is  therefore  more  easily  rendered  sublime 
than  painting.  In  a  cathedral,  while  the  understanding 
is  informed  by  the  painted  scenes,  the  passions  are  ex- 
cited by  musical  strains  from  the  choir ;  and  the  solemn 
grandeur  of  the  interior  becomes  completely  effective 
only  when  aided  by  the  chant  or  the  anthem.  Dark- 
ness, solitude,  and  silence  are  aids  to  the  sublime,  and 


GRANDEUK  AND   SUBLIMITY.  375 

with  their  aid  a  still  deeper  effect  may  be  produced  on 
the  imagination  by  spectral  illusions  than  by  sounds. 
And  the  fact  that  we  are  more  powerfully  affected  by 
shadows  than  by  substances  agrees  with  the  well-known 
power  of  obscure  images  in  poetry,  painting,  and  romance. 

The  emotion  of  sublimity  seems  to  me  to  be  more 
simple  than  that  of  grandeur,  and  more  allied  to  solem- 
nity. A  single  melancholy  note  in  the  silence  of  a  deep 
forest,  or  in  the  solemn  stillness  and  darkness  of  night, 
would  cause  an  emotion  more  like  that  of  sublimity  than 
of  grandeur ;  and  we  may  note  a  similar  distinction  in 
written  compositions.  In  sublime  writings  the  language 
is  simple ;  though  the  image  conveyed  to  the  mind  be 
obscure,  the  words  are  plain  and  few.  In  passages  of 
grandeur,  of  which  we  find  many  extraordinary  examples 
in  the  works  of  John  Euskin,  there  is  a  rapid  enumeration 
of  striking  images  that  produce  a  dazzling  and  bewildering 
effect  on  the  reader's  mind,  like  a  vast  stream  of  scintil- 
lations of  many  brilliant  colors  from  fireworks.  A  sub- 
lime description  is  generally  indebted  to  a  single  image 
for  its  effects.  Poets  have  often  embellished  their  de- 
scriptions with  supernatural  imagery.  Hence  the  sub- 
limity of  many  passages  in  the  Old  Testament  and  in 
Ossian.  In  almost  all  cases  a  certain  amount  of  vagueness 
or  obscurity  increases  the  force  of  the  image.  None 
would  deny  the  sublimity  of  this  passage :  "  I  heard  the 
voice  of  a  great  multitude,  as  the  sound  of  many  waters, 
saying,  Alleluia." 

By  some  writers  the  profound  is  placed  in  opposition  to 
the  sublime.  This  is  not  their  proper  relation  to  each 
other.  The  opposite  of  the  sublime  is  the  low  and  the 
trivial ;  the  profound  is  only  a  modification  of  the  senti- 
ment. Sublimity  literally  refers  to  great  altitude,  pro- 
foundity  to  great  depth.  We  speak  of  a  sublime  height 
and  of  a  profound  abyss ;  of  a  sublime  poet  and  a  pro- 


376  GKANDEUR  AND   SUBLIMITY. 

found  philosopher,  because  the  one  is  supposed  to  take 
flight  to  heaven,  and  the  other  to  penetrate  into  the  deep 
and  hidden  laws  of  nature.  It  is  common  also  to  speak  of 
a  profound,  rather  than  a  sublime,  mystery,  as  the  word 
seems  to  apply  to  something  that  is  buried. 

The  marvellous  is  but  a  modification  of  the  sublime. 
It  is  this  sentiment  that  causes  the  pleasure  we  feel  on 
beholding  any  unusual  phenomenon  in  the  heavens.  The 
pleasures  of  mystery  are  founded  on  the  same  instinct, 
and  are  all  interwoven  with  our  ideas  of  sublimity.  Even 
the  passion  of  love  is  heightened  in  its  origin  by  cer- 
tain mysterious  incidents  connected  with  the  life  and 
habits  of  the  object  of  the  passion.  All  the  pleasures 
of  life  are  enhanced  by  the  mystery  involved  in  the 
future.  That  ignorance  is  the  cause  of  the  emotion  of 
sublimity,  in  many  cases,  will  not  be  denied.  A  perfect 
understanding  of  the  proximate  causes  of  certain  natural 
phenomena  deprives  them  of  that  mystery  which  renders 
them  sublime.  To  the  superstitious,  the  omen  that  is  seen 
in  the  clouds  or  heard  in  the  wind,  the  spirit  that  walks  in 
darkness  like  a  half-illumined  shadow,  and  the  goblin 
that  is  seen  to  flit  across  the  moor  in  the  shape  of  a  ball 
of  flame,  are  each  a  source  of  sublimity.  The  man  of 
science  views  these  phenomena  with  very  different  sensa- 
tions. His  knowledge  of  their  natural  causes  divests 
them  of  their  power  over  his  mind.  But  what  he  has 
lost  on  the  one  hand  he  has  gained  on  the  other.  Though 
for  him  Science  has  driven  the  elves  from  the  unfrequented 
wood,  and  the  fairies  from  their  moonlight  haunts,  she  has 
opened  to  his  mental  vision  new  heavens  and  new  earths ; 
and  he  finds  new  and  more  delightful  sources  of  sublimity 
in  the  dim  region  of  distant  worlds  that  lie  beyond  our 
mortal  ken. 


THE  SPKUCE. 

THE  Spruce,  which  is  indigenous  in  New  England,  com- 
prehends the  White  and  the  Black  Spruce  and  the  Hem- 
lock. The  etymology  of  this  word  is  worthy  of  notice. 
Evelyn  says,  "  For  masts  (speaking  of  firs),  those  from 
Prussia,  which  we  call  Spruce,  and  Norway  are  the  best." 
The  word  seems  to  be  a  corruption  of  "  Pruse, "  meaning 
Prussian.  I  have  formerly  thought  that  the  name  was 
applied  to  this  tree  to  distinguish  it  from  others  of  the 
same  family  which  display  less  of  this  formal  symmetry ; 
but  the  fir  proper  is  certainly  more  spruce  in  its  shape 
than  the  more  flowing  Spruce  Fir. 

THE  WHITE   SPRUCE. 

The  White  Spruce  is  less  common  as  an  ornamental 
tree  than  the  Norway  spruce,  which  is  preferred  as  more 
rapid  growing  and  stately.  But  the  points  of  differ- 
ence seem  to  me  very  much  in  favor  of  the  White 
Spruce.  We  may  distinguish  them  by  the  following 
marks.  The  White  Spruce  is  not  so  tall  as  the  European 
tree,  and  its  cones  are  very  much  smaller,  though  both 
are  pendent.  But  what  is  most  remarkable  is  their 
different  mode  of  branching.  The  principal  branches 
of  each  are  given  out  at  right  angles,  with  this  ap- 
parent difference  only,  that  the  whorls  are  more  widely 
separated  in  the  Norway  spruce,  the  distance  seeming  to 
be  proportional  to  the  comparative  length  or  height  of  the 
trees.  The  leaves  of  the  Norway  spruce  grow  only  on  the 


378  THE  SPRUCE. 

top  and  two  sides  of  the  branch,  those  of  the  American 
spruce  cover  its  whole  circumference,  being  almost  cy- 
lindrical. 

But  the  most  remarkable  difference  is  observed  in  the 
disposition  of  the  secondary  branches.  The  Norway 
spruce  suspends  them  almost  perpendicularly  from  its  hori- 
zontal boughs.  Those  of  the  American  tree  are  tufted, 
not  pendulous,  but  merely  drooping  a  little  at  their  extrem- 
ities. This  gives  the  whole  mass  a  more  sturdy  appear- 
ance, and  takes  away  some  of  that  formality  which  is  so 
tiresome  in  the  Norway  spruce.  For  we  should  bear  in 
mind,  that,  although  hanging  foliage  is  supposed  to  be  less 
formal  than  the  opposite,  it  is  not  invariably  so.  The 
drooping  foliage  of  the  elm  and  the  hemlock  is  graceful, 
but  that  of  the  Norway  spruce  resembles  an  artificial 
arrangement,  and  reminds  me  of  garments  hanging  upon 
a  patent  clothes-line.  I  think  the  tufted  mode  of  growth 
of  the  American  spruces  would  be  generally  preferred  to 
the  formal  drooping  foliage  of  the  Norway  spruce  and 
European  larch. 

THE  BLACK  SPRUCE. 

The  Black  Spruce  is  a  taller  and  larger  tree  in  its  na- 
tive forest  than  the  white  spruce ;  but  the  latter,  when 
planted  in  pleasure-grounds,  makes  a  more  beautiful 
standard  than  the  other,  which  is  apt  to  grow  scraggy 
and  defective,  like  the  balsam  fir.  There  is  some  diffi- 
culty in  distinguishing  the  two  American  species,  until 
they  have  been  repeatedly  examined  and  compared,  though 
they  do  not  differ  from  each  other  so  obviously  as  they  both 
differ  from  the  Norway  spruce.  In  the  white  spruce  the 
trunk  tapers  more  rapidly,  the  bark  of  the  recent  branches 
is  lighter  colored,  the  cones  are  smaller  and  more  elongated, 
the  leaves  have  more  of  a  glaucous  hue,  they  are  also 


i  '  i 

ttlarly  from  , 
zontal 

'  >oping  a  little  at  their 
ities.  hole  mass  a  more  sturdy 

•-•me  of  that  formality  which  is  so 
y  spruce.     For  we  should 
e  is  supposed  to 
•   is  not  invariably  so.     The 
md  the  hemlock  is  graceful, 
nice  resembles  an  ai 
ne  of  garments  hanging  upon 
think  the  tufted  mode  of  • 
3  would  be  generally  prelV 
Hage  of  the  Norway  spru 


THE  BLACK  SPRUCE. 

"uce  is  a  taller  and  larger  free  in 
j'TOce;  but  the  lattev 
Is,   makes   a  more    b 
r,  \vhich  i 

rn  fir.     Tl 

Vmerican  sr 
4  and  eon; ,  • 
so  obvious!  y 

trunk 

is  light 

the  lei  ..i-e  also 


/ 


RELATIONS   OF  TREES  TO   ORNAMENT.  381 

general  constitute  the  most  picturesque  and  delightful 
farm  scenery  on  this  earth ;  but  wherever  the  baldness 
attributed  to  them  is  apparent,  it  has  been  caused  by 
avarice  and  narrow  views  of  economy,  guided  by  an  entire 
ignorance  of  the  value  of  certain  important  natural  ob- 
jects. The  man  who  cuts  down  his  trees  and  shrubbery 
from  places  where  the  economy  of  nature  requires  their 
preservation  is  actuated  by  a  sense  of  immediate  pecu- 
niary gain,  not  by  a  rational  sense  of  utility.  The  ruinous 
operations  of  some  of  our  predecessors  were  caused,  not 
by  a  want  of  taste,  but  by  a  want  of  knowledge.  To 
show  the  truth  of  my  assertion  that  a  broad  and  far-seeing 
principle  of  utility  is  sufficient  to  guide  our  hand  in  order 
to  produce  the  most  beautiful  and  impressive  kind  of 
landscape,  I  will  trace  the  operations  of  two  of  my  neigh- 
bors, one  a  philosophic  agriculturist,  the  other  a  "  man  of 
taste."  I  shall  endeavor  to  make  it  appear  that  physics  is 
a  far  better  teacher  than  sesthetics,  if  we  would  learn  how 
to  beautify  the  face  of  nature. 

My  philosophic  neighbor  has  never  studied  artistic 
effects  in  the  management  of  his  wood  and  ground.  He 
operates  exclusively  according  to  his  ideas  of  utility.  He 
neither  plants  nor  builds  anything  for  ornament  or  the 
display  of  art.  He  desires  only  to  have  a  convenient 
house  and  a  profitable  farm.  For  these  ends  he  has 
gathered  about  his  estate  trees  and  shrubs  of  all  native 
species,  not  designing  them  as  ornaments,  but  as  instru- 
ments for  accomplishing  certain  valuable  purposes.  He 
comprehends  the  full  value  of  all  different  natural  objects 
in  the  economy  of  a  farm,  and  takes  special  pains  for 
their  preservation ;  and  he  considers  decorative  art  in- 
jurious to  the  simple  and  rustic  beauty  that  appertains  to 
a  farm.  But  the  neat  and  orderly  condition  of  all  useful 
objects,  whether  they  are  groups  and  rows  of  trees,  or 
herder  growths  of  shrubbery  and  little  shelters  for  birds, 


382  KELATIONS   OF  TEEES  TO   ORNAMENT. 

and  that  fitness  and  propriety  which  are  everywhere  con- 
spicuous, combined  with  an  evident  regardlessness  of  dis- 
play, mark  the  genuine  farm  and  the  intelligent  husband- 
man. 

My  neighbor  has  a  superior  understanding  of  the  laws 
of  nature.  He  has  studied  all  the  complicated  relations 
of  things  in  Nature's  economy ;  he  sees  how  her  benevo- 
lent designs  may  be  carried  out  for  our  own  benefit,  and 
how,  on  the  other  hand,  they  may  be  thwarted  by  cer- 
tain simple  operations,  not  imagined  by  others  to  be  of 
any  importance.  There  is  a  wood  on  the  northern  boun- 
dary of  his  farm,  standing  on  a  gravelly  hill,  with  a  grassy 
slope  below,  which  he  has  often  been  advised  to  cut  for 
timber  and  fueL  But  appreciating  the  advantage  of  a 
wood  in  this  situation  to  protect  his  crops  and  his  build- 
ings from  the  northerly  winds,  he  believes  it  wiser  to 
use  it  as  a  permanent  bulwark,  than  to  fell  it  for  its  im- 
mediate value  in  the  market.  He  feels  assured  likewise 
that  such  a  barren  foundation  must  remain  ever  after- 
wards a  useless  space.  His  sense  of  utility  has  thus 
been  the  cause  of  preserving  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
ornaments  of  his  grounds. 

He  occupies  the  level  parts  of  his  lands  and  the  gentle 
slopes  for  tillage ;  but  you  cannot  from  any  position  on 
the  ground  obtain  a  clear  lookout  in  all  directions.  Your 
prospect  is  interrupted  by  frequent  growths  of  wood,  cov- 
ering little  barren  elevations,  or  projecting  rocks  that 
extend  from  a  quarry  beneath.  All  these  prominences 
are  covered  with  trees  and  their  undergrowth,  or  with 
shrubbery  and  coppice.  His  fields,  you  will  observe,  pres- 
ent a  very  bushy  appearance,  more  shaggy  and  rude  than 
would  please  the  "  eye  of  taste " ;  for  he  allows  two  or 
three  feet  of  space  on  each  side  of  his  fences  to  be  filled 
with  trees  and  shrubs.  He  has  planted  all  vacant  spaces 
in  these  borders  with  them,  if  they  did  not  come  up 


RELATIONS   OF  TEEES  TO   ORNAMENT.  383 

of  their  own  accord,  and  never  permits  the  ground  be- 
neath them  to  be  disturbed,  or  any  part  of  the  under- 
growth to  be  cleared.  Two  important  advantages,  he  says, 
are  gained  by  this  management.  The  winds  that  sweep 
across  his  fields  are  checked  in  their  force  by  these  bar- 
riers of  trees  and  shrubbery;  so  that  he  gams  more  by 
the  protection  they  afford  his  crops  than  he  loses  by  leav- 
ing so  much  of  his  land  untilled.  The  second  advantage 
is  derived  from  the  shelter  they  afford  to  birds,  and  the 
consequent  diminution  of  grubs,  caterpillars,  and  other 
injurious  insects.  But  this  is  not  all ;  there  is  no  end  to 
the  pleasant  walks  by  these  natural  hedge-rows,  the 
sunny  and  protected  nooks,  the  cool  shady  paths,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  delightful  seclusion  they  afford  and  the 
innumerable  variety  of  flowers  and  fruits  which  they 
bear  in  their  proper  seasons. 

On  a  certain  part  of  his  farm,  encompassing  a  consider- 
able space,  is  a  steep  ridge,  occupying  perhaps  a  furlong 
in  absolute  length.  It  is  one  of  those  moraines,  popularly 
denominated  an  Indian  ridge,  consisting  chiefly  of  sand 
and  pebbles.  It  is  too  steep  and  narrow  to  admit  of 
cultivation ;  the  soil  is  barren,  and  the  crops,  if  any  could 
be  raised  from  it,  would  be  frequently  destroyed,  during 
showers,  by  the  forcible  descent  of  their  waters  over  the 
unobstructed  surface.  My  neighbor  has  kept  this  ridge 
covered  with  its  native  growth  of  trees  and  underbrush, 
removing  a  few  trees  from  time  to  time,  for  fuel  or  lum- 
ber, but  only  so  fast  as  it  could  be  done  without  sensibly 
diminishing  the  quantity.  Strangers  visiting  the  place 
admire  the  hanging  wood  upon  this  declivity,  overlooking 
the  cultivated  fields  below,  and  enclosing  them  in  its  de- 
lightful umbrage.  They  all  praise  the  taste  of  the  pro- 
prietor, who  has  taken  such  pains  to  preserve  these  beau- 
tiful features,  of  his  place.  He  acknowledges  that  he  is 
pleased  with  their  beauty,  but  the  visitors  are  surprised 


384  RELATIONS   OF   TREES   TO   ORNAMENT. 

when  he  declares  that  he  has  not  preserved  a  single  object 
from  any  consideration  of  taste.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
convinces  them  that  trees  are  more  profitable  to  him  on 
this  ridge  than  anything  else  that  could  be  made  to  grow 
there.  They  prevent  inundations  from  showers,  protect 
the  grounds  from  wind,  and  in  a  hundred  ways  improve 
the  local  climate  and  increase  the  productiveness  of  his 
farm. 

Let  me  follow  my  philosophic  neighbor  in  other  meas- 
ures that  contribute  to  the  beauty  of  his  grounds,  though 
designed  only  for  some  economical  purpose.  A  small 
river  winds  through  his  farm,  which  is  liable  to  overflow 
and  wash  the  soil  from  its  banks.  To  guard  them  from 
this  accident,  he  has  preserved  the  trees,  shrubs,  and 
vines  upon  them,  except  those  parts  which  by  their  con- 
dition are  exempt  from  danger.  In  one  place  there  is  a 
small  peninsula,  which  is  formed  by  a  sudden  bend  in  the 
course  of  the  river,  and  would  be  liable  to  be  demolished  by 
an  inundation,  if  its  banks  were  not  strengthened  by  nature 
or  art.  This  neck  of  land  is  kept  entirely  covered  with  trees 
and  shrubs,  whose  interwoven  roots  prevent  the  encroach- 
ment of  the  stream.  The  little  grove  thus  maintained 
upon  it  offers  the  birds  both  shelter  and  seclusion,  and  in 
spring  and  summer  it  is  a  perfect  orchestra  of  woodland 
song.  It  is  delightful  to  sail  down  this  river  on  a  calm 
summer's  day,  under  the  shade  of  the  trees  that  frequently 
meet  and  interlace  their  branches  from  the  opposite  sides, 
and  view  the  landscape  from  the  frequent  openings.  The 
grounds  of  the  whole  farm  are  picturesque  and  beautiful, 
though  nothing  has  been  done  or  left  undone  except  for 
some  useful  and  economical  purpose. 

My  other  neighbor  is  a  man  of  aesthetic  proclivities,  — 
a  lover  of  the  "beautiful,"  —  and,  having  considerable 
wealth,  he  determined  to  convert  his  estate -into  a  ferme 
ornee.  His  grounds  are  so  similar  in  their  natural  con- 


RELATIONS   OF   TREES   TO   ORNAMENT.  385 

formation  to  those  I  have  described,  that  no  important 
difference  could  be  discovered.  But  in  their  present  as- 
pect, caused  by  the  different  management  of  the  proprie- 
tors, no  two  places,  originally  so  similar,  could  be  more 
unlike.  My  aesthetic  neighbor  has  made  a  grand  display 
of  the  fine  arts  upon  his  estate.  The  grounds  immediately 
adjoining  his  house  are  indeed  a  museum  of  Grecian  my- 
thology in  marble.  The  topiary  art  has  also  been  em- 
ployed to  an  extreme.  Clumps  of  shrubbery  appear  in 
the  shape  of  domes  and  pyramids,  and  clipped  hedge-rows 
are  substituted  for  all  artificial  fences,  and  for  their  main- 
tenance he  has  removed  the  stone-walls  and  their  beau- 
tiful border  growths  of  shrubbery,  which  are  so  pleasing 
a  feature  on  the  rustic  farm. 

He  would  tolerate  none  of  those  straight  rows  of  trees, 
the  charming  growth  of  accident,  by  the  sides  of  his  fences. 
He  could  not  bear  any  such  formality.  Having  broken 
them  up  according  to  a  modern  canon  of  taste  that  con- 
demns all  straight  lines,  he  has  planted  around  the  few 
trees  which  are  allowed  to  remain  a  number  of  others,  to 
form  artistic  groups,  and  to  deceive  Nature  into  the  belief 
that  they  are  her  spontaneous  creation.  For,  as  a  student 
of  aesthetics,  he  has  discovered  that  Nature  plants  her  trees 
in  bundles,  with  delightful  spaces  of  lawn  between  them, 
and  not,  as  the  naturalist  and  forester  have  always  ob- 
served, in  tangled  confusion.  The  weeds  and  tufts  of  sedge 
and  brambles  have  been  so  thoroughly  eradicated  that  not 
even  a  spike  of  panic-grass  is  left  from  which  a  sparrow 
might  peck  a  few  nutritious  seeds.  Not  a  bird  could  find 
a  bush  or  a  tussock  in  which  he  might  nestle.  The  whole 
feathered  tribe  are  banished  from  the  grounds,  while,  on  the 
adjoining  farm,  they  assemble  and  sing  and  gladden  every 
scene  by  their  presence.  The  only  wild  birds  here  are 
visitors  from  adjoining  farms ;  but  their  absence  is  sup- 
plied by  a  splendid  aviary,  where  many  foreign  songsters, 

17  Y 


386  RELATIONS   OF  TREES  TO   ORNAMENT. 

obtained  at  great  price,  are  imprisoned,  and  make  a  noisy 
confusion  of  musical  sounds,  —  a  brilliant  counterfeit  of 
the  aviary  of  nature  on  the  other  farm,  showing  that 
taste,  like  fashion,  admires  the  counterfeit  of  many  a 
thing  which  it  contemns. 

The  ridges  and  elevations  of  his  farm,  so  beautiful  when 
covered  with  trees  and  their  native  embroidery,  have  been 
entirely  cleared  of  their  undergrowth,  and  of  all  the  trees 
except  a  few  of  handsome  size  and  proportions.  The 
ground  beneath  them  has  been  thoroughly  spaded  and 
smoothed,  a  crop  of  lawn  grass  has  been  sown  there,  and 
is  kept  short  and  velvety  by  a  mowing-machine.  Here 
are  no  rustic  wood-paths ;  in  the  place  of  them  nicely 
smoothed  gravel-walks  pursue  a  serpentine  course  in  the 
"  line  of  beauty  "  up  hill  and  down  and  along  the  grassy 
plain  in  many  tasteful  circumgyrations.  When  a  copious 
shower  falls  upon  the  hills  of  this  model  estate,  where  the 
surface  is  wholly  cleared  and  smoothed,  the  water  rushes 
down  their  slopes  in  forcible  torrents,  inundating  all  the 
plain  below,  and  forming  great  gullies  on  the  hillsides  and 
heaps  of  sand  and  gravel  at  their  base.  My  philosophic 
neighbor's  farm  escapes  all  these  evils.  Not  even  the 
little  ground-sparrow  is  disturbed  in  her  nest  by  the  most 
violent  thunder- showers. 

If  you  were  to  pass  over  the  grounds  of  my  aesthetic 
neighbor,  you  would  be  affected  everywhere  with  a  sense 
that  nature  is  subdued.  In  strict  accordance  with  the 
rules  of  the  "natural  system"  of  landscape-gardening, 
everything  has  been  done  for  the  eye  and  the  admiration, 
and  nothing  for  the  comfort  and  delight,  of  the  visitor. 
While  walking  in  his  grounds,  you  are  affected  with  a 
quasi  feeling  of  grandeur.  You  can  look  upon  a  wide 
space  from  almost  any  point  of  view.  This  does  not  give 
you  a  sense  of  freedom;  but  the  niceness  and  trimness 
of  the  grounds  cause  you  a  painful  feeling  of  restraint. 


RELATIONS   OF  TEEES  TO   ORNAMENT.  387 

Neither  do  you  find  seclusion  here.  There  are  no  little 
cosey  retreats,  so  frequent  on  the  rustic  farm,  among  the 
wild  shrubbery,  no  solitary  foot-paths  leading  you  to 
sunny  arbors  frequented  by  birds  and  wild  flowers,  then 
down  into  thickets  of  roses  and  clematis ;  all  here  is 
open  and  smooth  and  bald  and  rounded  and  graded,  not  a 
single  scene  is  beheld  that  does  not  remind  you  how 
closely  allied  are  taste  and  barbarism. 


THE  NOETHEEN  CYPEESS. 

THE  Northern  Cypress,  or  White  Cedar,  is  a  more 
stately  tree  than  the  juniper,  but  it  is  never  seen  by  our 
waysides  ;  it  will  thrive  only  in  swampy  soils.  This  is 
the  tree  that  covers  those  extensive  morasses  known  as 
cedar  swamps,  which  are,  perhaps,  the  best  examples  ex- 
tant of  the  primitive  forest.  The  White  Cedar  is  not  often 
called  the  Cypress  in  New  England,  and  in  general  ap- 
pearance, and  especially  in  the  style  of  its  foliage,  bears 
but  little  resemblance  to  the  Southern  Cypress ;  but  its 
similarity  to  the  juniper  is  very  striking.  It  is  a  taller 
tree  than  the  European  Cypress.  By  some  botanists  it  is 
classed  with  the  arbor- vitae. 

This  tree  is  not  confined  to  inland  moors,  but  is  often 
found  upon  marshes  which  are  overflowed  by  the  tide  of 
the  ocean.  Cedar  swamps  are  common  in  all  the  mari- 
time parts  of  the  country.  In  many  of  them  in  New 
England  the  trees  are  so  closely  set  that  it  is  difficult 
to  traverse  them.  Their  wetness  presents  another  obsta- 
cle to  the  traveller,  except  in  winter,  when  the  water 
is  frozen,  or  in  the  driest  part  of  summer.  In  these 
swamps  there  is  a  covering,  in  some  parts,  of  bog-moss, 
from  six  inches  to  a  foot  deep,  always  charged  with 
moisture,  in  which  are  embedded  several  half-parasitic 
plants,  such  as  the  white  orchis.  The  White  Cedar  con- 
stitutes with  the  southern  cypress  the  principal  timber  of 
the  Great  Dismal  Swamp,  and  is  the  last  tree,  except  the 
red  maple,  which  is  discovered  when  travelling  through 
an  extensive  morass. 


THE  SOUTHERN  CYPRESS.  389 

Michaux  remarks  that  in  the  Southern  swamps  which 
are  occupied  by  the  Northern  and  Southern  Cypress,  the 
former  "  are  observed  to  choose  the  centre  of  the  swamps, 
and  the  southern  cypresses  the  circumference."  In  the 
region  of  the  southern  cypress  the  cedar  swamps  are 
skirted  by  the  tupelo  and  the  red  maple.  There  is  but 
little  superficial  resemblance  between  the  two  cypresses. 
The  foliage  of  the  Northern  tree  is  evergreen.  "Each 
leaf,"  says  Michaux,  "is  a  little  branch  numerously 
subdivided,  and  composed  of  small,  acute,  imbricated 
scales,  on  the  back  of  which  a  minute  gland  is  discov- 
ered with  the  lens.  In  the  angle  of  these  ramifications 
grow  the  flowers,  which  are  scarcely  visible,  and  which 
produce  very  small  rugged  cones  of  a  greenish  tint,  that 
change  to  bluish  towards  the  fall,  when  they  open  to 
release  the  fine  seeds." 


THE  SOUTHERN   CYPRESS. 

We  have  read  more  perhaps  of  the  Southern  Cypress 
than  of  any  other  American  tree  ;  but  what  we  have  read 
relates  to  some  of  its  peculiarities,  such  as  the  stumps 
that  grow  up  among  the  perfect  trees,  and  of  which,  in 
the  economy  of  nature,  it  is  difficult  to  discover  the 
advantages.  "We  have  read  also  of  the  immense  gloomy 
swamps  that  are  shaded  by  trees  of  this  species;  of 
the  long  mosses,  called  the  "  garlands  of  death,"  that 
hang  from  their  branches,  rendering  the  scene  still  more 
gloomy.  But  from  all  our  reading  we  should  not  discover 
what  is  immediately  apparent  to  our  observation,  when 
we  see  this  tree,  that  it  is  one  of  the  most  beautiful  of  the 
forest. 

The  Southern  Cypress  is  beginning  to  be  prized  here 
as  an  ornamental  tree,  and  the  few  standards  in  the 
enclosures  of  suburban  estates  will  convince  any  one  that 


390  THE   SOUTHERN  CYPRESS. 

no  species  has  been  brought  from  the  South  that  surpasses 
it  in  elegance  and  beauty.  The  larch,  which  is  a  favorite 
ornamental  tree,  will  not  compare  with  it,  though  there 
is  some  superficial  resemblance  between  it  and  the 
American  larch.  They  are  both  deciduous ;  and  their 
foliage  is  brighter  in  the  summer  than  that  of  other  coni- 
fers. The  leaves  of  the  deciduous  Cypress  are  of  the  most 
delicate  texture,  of  a  light  green,  and  arranged  in  neat 
opposite  rows,  like  those  of  the  hemlock,  on  the  slender 
terminal  branches. 

Michaux  remarks  that  the  banks  of  the  Indian  Eiver, 
a  small  stream  in  Delaware,  are  the  northern  boundary 
of  the  deciduous  Cypress.  He  says  it  occupies  an  area 
of  more  than  fifteen  hundred  miles.  The  largest  trees 
are  found  in  the  swamps  that  contain  a  deep,  miry  soil, 
with  a  surface  of  vegetable  mould,  renewed  every  year 
by  floods.  Some  of  these  trees  are  "  one  hundred  and 
twenty  feet  in  height,  and  from  twenty-five  to  forty  feet 
in  circumference  at  the  conical  base,  which,  at  the  surface 
of  the  earth,  is  always  three  or  four  times  as  large  as  the 
continued  diameter  of  the  trunk.  In  felling  them  the 
negroes  are  obliged  to  raise  themselves  upon  scaffolds  five 
or  six  feet  from  the  ground.  The  base  is  usually  hollow 
for  three  quarters  of  its  bulk."  The  conical  protuberances 
for  which  this  tree  is  remarkable  come  from  the  roots 
of  the  largest  trees,  particularly  of  those  in  very  wet  soils. 
"  They  are,"  says  Michaux,  "  commonly  from  eighteen  to 
twenty-four  inches  in  height,  and  sometimes  from  four  to 
five  feet  in  thickness.  They  are  always  hollow,  smooth  on 
the  surface,  and  covered  with  a  reddish  bark  like  the  roots, 
which  they  resemble  also  in  the  softness  of  their  wood. 
They  exhibit  no  signs  of  vegetation,  and  I  have  never 
succeeded  in  obtaining  shoots  by  wounding  their  surface 
and  covering  them  with  earth.  No  cause  can  be  assigned 
for  their  existence.  They  are  peculiar  to  the  Cypress, 


THE  SOUTHEKN  CYPKESS.  391 

and  begin  to  appear  when  it  is  twenty  or  twenty-five  feet 
in  height  They  are  made  use  of  only  by  the  negroes  for 
bee-hives." 

The  leaves  of  the  Cypress  seem  like  pinnate  leaves, 
with  two  rows  of  leaflets.  Their  tint  is  of  a  light  and  very 
bright  green,  which  gives  the  tree  a  liveliness,  when  in 
full  foliage,  that  is  displayed  but  by  few  other  trees.  But 
as  the  foliage  is  deciduous,  and  as  the  branches  in  its  na- 
tive swamps  are  covered  by  long  tresses  of  black  moss, 
when  it  has  shed  its  leaves  nothing  in  nature  can  present 
a  more  gloomy  appearance.  In  a  dense  wood,  the  foliage 
is  very  thin,  giving  rise  to  the  name  of  the  Bald  Cypress, 
so  that  it  is  only  on  the  outside  of  the  forest  that  the 
tree  can  be  considered  beautiful.  Its  spray  is  of  as  fine 
a  texture  as  the  leaves.  When  the  tree  is  young  it  is 
pyramidal,  but  the  old  trees  are  invariably  flattened  at 
the  top. 

The  wood  of  this  tree,  though  soft,  is  very  durable, 
fine  grained,  and  of  a  reddish  color,  and  is  extensively 
used  for  the  same  purposes  for  which  the  wood  of  the 
white  pine  is  employed. 


/ 


THOREAU. 

EVERY  student  of  nature  or  admirer  of  poetry  as  exem- 
plified in  life  and  action,  who  should  make  a  visit  to 
Walden  Pond,  would  seek  the  spot  which  was  made  sacred 
by  the  two  years'  solitary  residence  of  Henry  D.  Thoreau. 
"Walden  is  known  to  the  public  chiefly  by  what  Thoreau 
has  written  of  it,  and  by  his  hermit  life  upon  its  borders. 
Society  ought  to  have  exclaimed  against  the  present 
desecration  of  that  hallowed  spot  by  making  it  the 
ground  for  picnics,  —  assemblages  of  people  who  go  there, 
not  for  the  observation  of  nature,  but  for  ice-creams 
and  soda-water,  and  for  repeating  in  the  country  the 
amusements  of  the  city.  Walden  is  not  simply  a  beauti- 
ful sheet  of  water  surrounded  by  a  wild  wood  and  adorned 
with  water-lilies  and  pontederia ;  it  is  the  scene  of  a 
few  years  of  solitary  life  of  a  philosopher  who  lived  ac- 
cording to  his  own  maxims,  of  a  poet  who  acted  up  to 
his  own  inspiration,  a  pious  devotee  who  built  his  altar 
at  the  fountain  of  the  Naiad  and  in  the  first  temple  of 
the  gods. 

He  made  his  home  under  the  trees,  that  he  might  listen 
at  all  hours  to  the  music  that  fell  with  the  dew-drops 
from  their  leaves.  "  This  was  an  airy  unplastered  cabin, 
fit  to  entertain  a  travelling  god,  and  where  a  goddess 
might  trail  her  garments.  The  winds,"  said  Thoreau,  "  that 
swept  over  my  dwelling,  were  such  as  sweep  over  the 
ridges  of  mountains,  bearing  the  broken  strains  or  celes- 
tial parts  only  of  terrestrial  music.  The  morning  wind 
forever  blows ;  the  poem  of  creation  is  uninterrupted  ; 


THOREAU.  393 

but  few  are  the  ears  that  hear  it.  Olympus  is  but  the 
outside  of  the  earth  everywhere."  The  pine  shed  its 
odors  around  him  in  all  his  daily  employments.  The 
squirrel  dropped  its  nutshells,  after  its  repast  among  the 
hickory  boughs,  upon  the  roof  of  his  house,  and  the 
partridge  led  her  little  brood  into  his  garden.  Here  he 
dwelt,  a  hermit,  without  the  hermit's  superstition ;  living 
not  as  a  saint  nor  as  a  cynic,  but  as  a  priest  and  wor- 
shipper of  nature. 

Thoreau  sought  in  the  woods  for  the  realization  of  a 
life  which  he  thought  possible  to  humanity,  if  men,  after 
imbibing  the  knowledge  of  civilization,  could  still  retain 
the  simplicity  of  man  in  the  infancy  of  society.  He 
sought  to  carry  into  practice  the  beautiful  visions  which 
Eousseau  described,  but  never  dared  to  live.  The  beauty 
and  sublimity  of  nature  he  wished  to  incorporate  into  his 
daily  observations  of  life.  He  loved  the  ideal  of  nature 
as  a  poet  loves  a  beautiful  young  woman  whom  his  imagi- 
nation has  apotheosized.  He,  of  all  visionaries,  had  the 
courage  to  turn  his  visions  into  realities.  He,  of  all  poets, 
resolved  to  mould  his  life  into  a  continued  pastoral  epic. 
He  mingled  his  own  fancies  with  the  balm  of  the  primi- 
tive wood.  He  would  not  lose  the  beautiful  shape  of 
those  visions  in  the  confusion  of  cities,  but  in  the  solitude 
of  the  forest  hoped  to  perpetuate  them  in  his  life. 

He  says :  "  I  went  to  the  woods  because  I  wished  to  live 
deliberately,  to  front  only  the  essential  facts  of  life,  and 
see  if  I  could  not  learn  what  it  had  to  teach,  and  not, 
when  I  came  to  die,  discover  that  I  had  not  lived."  In 
such,  passages  as  this  he  unfolds  the  secret  of  his  heart. 
When  he  speaks  of  economy  and  some  other  practical 
topics,  his  philosophy  proves  itself  impracticable ;  but 
when  in  his  enthusiasm  he  utters  one  of  his  rhapsodies, 
then  does  the  light  that  flashes  from  his  own  mind  af- 
ford us  a  glimpse  of  the  paradise  that  dwelt  within  him, 
17* 


394  THOREAU. 

whose  delights  he  sought  under  the  rustling  leaves  of  the 
aspen  and  the  musical  moaning  of  the  pine.  "  The  uni- 
verse," he  said,  "  constantly  and  obediently  answers  to  our 
conceptions ;  whether  we  travel  fast  or  slow,  the  track  is 
laid  for  us.  Let  us  spend  our  lives  in  conceiving  them. 
The  poet  or  the  artist  never  yet  had  so  fair  and  noble  a 
design,  but  some  of  -his  posterity  at  least  could  accom- 
plish it" 

He  desired  a  life  without  laborious  study  or  toil,  not 
from  indolence,  which  he  never  felt,  but  that  he  might 
exemplify  the  benevolence  of  nature  in  his  own  system 
of  living.  It  was  a  sublime  thought  which  only  a 
poet  could  conceive  and  only  a  brave  man  could  carry 
out.  Some  of  the  eremites  of  old  believed  that  by 
dwelling  alone,  and  giving  themselves  up  to  contempla- 
tion, they  might  gradually  attain  some  of  the  perfection 
of  the  Deity.  Thoreau  had  a  grand  conception  of  a  cer- 
tain simplicity  of  life,  like  that  of  rustic  laborers,  without 
their  slavish  toil,  which  he  desired  to  illustrate  by  his 
own  experiment.  Could  he  have  attained  his  end,  we 
should  have  seen  in  his  experience  a  signal  exemplification 
of  the  ideal  life  of  a  shepherd  as  described  by  the  poets. 
His  was  not  the  fanaticism  of  a  religionist :  it  was  the 
inspiration  of  a  poet  seeking  manifestation  in  his  walks, 
in  his  employments,  and  at  the  domestic  board.  If  the 
rural  gods  had  not  forsaken  the  earth,  they  would  have 
assembled  in  his  hut  to  listen  to  his  words,  and  would 
have  sat  with  him  in  his  house.  His  simple  rustic  neigh- 
bors respected  him  as  a  saint,  and  felt  honored  in  his 
presence. 

When  enshrined  in  his  own  solitude,  he  devoted  him- 
self to  the  observation  of  everything  around  him.  He 
listened  to  sounds  as  the  ancient  augurs  listened  to  the 
oracles  of  Dodona,  not  to  interpret  from  them  a  prophetic 
meaning,  but  to  discover  the  effects  they  produce  upon 


THOKEATT.  395 

our  feelings,  and  to  remember  them  as  sources  of  inspira- 
tion. No  poet  has  equalled  him  in  his  descriptions  of 
sounds.  "I  rejoice,"  he  says,  " that  there  are  owls.  Let 
them  do  the  idiotic  and  maniacal  hooting  for  men.  It  is 
a  sound  admirably  suited  to  swamps  and  twilight  woods 
which  no  day  illustrates,  suggesting  a  vast  and  undevel- 
oped nature  which  men  have  not  recognized.  They  rep- 
resent the  stark  twilight  and  unsatisfied  thoughts  which' 
all  have." 

Thoreau  was  a  poet,  rather  than  a  philosopher.  The 
luminous  medium  through  which  he  saw  all  things  ap- 
pertaining to  nature  incapacitated  him  for  logical  reason- 
ing. He  lived  upon  his  intuitions.  His  style  of  writ- 
ing was  very  simple,  occasionally  flashing  with  brilliant 
metaphors,  which  he  rarely  used,  but  which  always  came 
unsought,  and  were  not  elaborately  nailed  to  his  sentences, 
like  pictures  on  a  wall.  His  satire  is  inimitable,  and  he 
utters  his  paradoxes  with  such  an  air  of  inspiration  that 
you  admire  them  in  spite  of  their  absurdity.  He  saw 
visions  and  described  them  like  a  prophet,  but  they  were 
unintelligible  to  men  of  the  world.  He  saw  truths,  but 
they  were  for  the  imagination,  not  the  reason.  "  I  would," 
he  said,  "  rather  sit  on  a  pumpkin  and  have  it  all  to  myself, 
than  be  crowded  on  a  velvet  cushion.  I  would  rather  ride 
on  earth  in  an  ox-cart  with  a  free  circulation,  than  go  to 
heaven  in  the  fancy  car  of  an  excursion  train  and  breathe 
a  malaria  all  the  way." 

Thoreau  always  took  an  ethereal  view  of  terrestrial 
landscape,  as  when  listening  to  terrestrial  sounds  he  tried 
to  remember  only  the  celestial  strains  that  were  blended 
with  them.  He  thought  perhaps  we  might  in  another 
state  "  look  down  on  the  surface  of  the  air,  and  mark 
where  a  still  subtler  spirit  sweeps  over  it."  He  speaks 
of  a  "  lake  of  rainbow  light  in  which  for  a  short  time  he 
liyed  like  a  dolphin."  In  a  similar  luminousness  of 


396  THOEEAL*. 

genius  his  faculties  were  always  involved,  tingeing  every 
object  of  nature  with  its  own  light  and  hues.  Those 
whose  minds  were  too  dull  to  perceive  the  hue  of  his 
genius  did  not  respect  him,  but  thought  him  a  fanatic. 

A  simple  excavation  now  marks  the  place  where  stood 
Thoreau's  hut.  It  is  in  an  open  space  between  two 
sections  of  Walden  woods.  No  remnants  of  the  house 
are  to  be  discovered  on  the  spot.  Not  a  stone  marks  the 
place  which  is  sacred  to  his  genius  and  immortalized  by 
his  works.  It  has  not  yet  been  desecrated  by  a  monu- 
ment such  as  men  erect  to  those  who  have  flattered  their 
prejudices  and  exalted  their  pride,  the  proud  distinction 
of  worldlings  after  their  death.  Young  trees  of  the  forest 
have  grown  up  from  its  cellar  and  near  its  foundation, 
and  will  soon  convert  his  garden  into  a  wood.  Wild 
vines  cover  the  surface  of  his  little  farm,  and  field  flowers 
cluster  round  its  embankments,  tempting  the  visitor  to 
pause  and  admire  this  pious  retreat  of  a  poet  who  sought 
to  realize  on  earth  the  heaven  of  his  own  inspiration. 


THE  JUNIPEE. 

THE  Juniper  is  an  historical  tree,  and  has  been  the  sub- 
ject of  many  interesting  traditions,  —  supposed  by  the 
ancients  to  yield  a  shade  that  was  injurious  to  human 
life;  the  emblem  of  faith,  because  its  heart  is  always 
sound ;  the  bearer  of  fruit  regarded  as  a  panacea  for  all 
diseases,  and  a  magic  charm  which  was  thrown  on  the 
funeral  pile  to  protect  the  spirit  of  the  dead  from  evil, 
and  bound  with  the  leaves  to  propitiate  the  deities  by 
their  incense.  It  is  not  improbable  that  the  superstitious 
notions  respecting  the  power  of  its  fruit  to  heal  diseases 
gave  origin  to  the  use  of  it  in  the  manufacture  of  certain 
alcoholic  liquors ;  and  it  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  uni- 
versal belief  in  its  virtues  as  a  panacea  should  have  at- 
tached to  a  plant  which  is  now  used  for  no  important 
medical  purpose  whatever  save  the  flavoring  of  gin ! 

The  Juniper,  very  generally  called  the  Red  Cedar,  and 
known  in  many  places  as  the  Savin,  is  well  known  to  all 
our  people,  and  is  associated  with  the  most  rugged 
scenery  of  our  coast  On  all  our  rocky  hills  which  have 
been  stripped  of  their  original  growth  the  Juniper  springs 
up  as  if  it  found  there  a  soil  congenial  to  its  wants.  On 
the'  contrary,  the  soil  is  very  poorly  adapted  to  it,  for  the 
tree  never  attains  a  good  size  in  these  situations.  Its 
presence  there  may  be  attributed  to  the  birds  that  feed 
in  winter  upon  its  fruit,  and  scatter  its  seeds  while  in 
quest  of  dormant  insects  among  the  sods.  As  we  journey 
southward,  we  find  this  tree  in  perfection  in  New  Jersey 
and  Maryland ;  and  in  all  the  Atlantic  States  south  of 


398  THE  JUNIPER. 

Long  Island  Sound  the  Junipers  are  large  and  thrifty 
trees. 

On  our  barren  hills,  near  the  coast,  where  they  are  so 
common  as  to  be  the  most  conspicuous  feature  of  certain 
regions,  they  display  a  great  variety  of  shapes  and  gro- 
tesque peculiarities  of  outline.  Yet  the  normal  shape  of 
this  tree  is  a  perfect  spire.  When  it  presents  this  form, 
it  is,  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  a  beautiful  object. 
Even  its  rusty-green  foliage  gives  variety  to  the  hues  of 
the  landscape,  and  heightens  by  contrast  the  verdure  of 
other  trees.  This  effect  is  the  more  remarkable  at  mid- 
summer, when  the  green  of  the  different  trees  has  become 
nearly  uniform  in  its  shades.  At  this  time  the  mixture 
of  the  duller  tints  of  the  Juniper  is  very  agreeable. 

The  Juniper  is  very  full  of  branches,  irregularly  dis- 
posed at  a  small  angle  with  the  trunk,  forming  an  exceed- 
ingly dense  mass  of  foliage.  A  singular  habit  of  this 
tree  is  that  of  producing  tufts  of  branches  with  foliage  re- 
sembling that  of  the  prostrate  Juniper,  as  if  a  branch  of 
that  shrub  had  been  ingrafted  upon  it.  The  berries,  which 
are  abundant  in  the  fertile  trees,  are  of  a  light  bluish 
color,  and  afford  a  winter  repast  to  many  species  of  birds, 
particularly  the  waxwing.  The  branches,  when  their  ex- 
tremities are  brought  into  contact  with  the  soil,  readily 
take  root.  Hence  we  sometimes  find  a  clump  of  small 
trees  gathered  like  children  around  the  parent  tree. 

The  trunk  of  this  tree  diminishes  so  rapidly  in  size  as 
to  lose  its  value  for  many  purposes  to  which  the  wood 
is  adapted ;  but  this  rapid  diminution  in  diameter  is  one 
of  its  picturesque  properties,  and  the  cause  in  part  of  that 
spiry  form  which  is  so  much  admired  in  this  tree.  The 
lateral  branches,  always  inserted  obliquely,  diminish  in 
size  proportionally  with  the  decrease  of  the  trunk.  The 
Juniper  is  first  discovered  on  Cedar  Island  in  Lake  Cham- 
plain,  and,  south  of  this  latitude,  extends  all  along  the 


THE  AEBOR-VIT^L  399 

coast  to  the  Cape  of  Florida,  and  along  the  shores  of  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico. 


THE  ARBOR-VITJE. 

THE  American  Arbor- Yitae  is  a  small  tree  growing  very- 
much  in  the  spiry  form  of  the  juniper,  but  narrower  in 
the  lower  part.  It  is  like  the  juniper  also  in  its  numer- 
ous and  irregularly  disposed  branches.  It  is  not  seen  in 
the  woods  near  Boston ;  and  it  is  rare  even  in  cultivated 
grounds,  where  the  Siberian  Arbor- Vitse,  on  account  of  its 
superior  foliage,  is  preferred.  The  American  tree  grows 
abundantly  in  high  northern  latitudes.  It  is  remarkable, 
with  its  kindred  species,  for  the  flattened  shape  of  its 
leaves  ;  and  in  its  native  woods  it  is  hardly  ever  without 
a  mixture  of  yellow  and  faded  leaves  interspersed  with 
the  green  and  healthy  foliage.  The  terminal  branch  in- 
vested by  the  leaflets  —  resembling  scales,  and  not  a  true 
leaf  —  constitutes  this  fanlike  appendage,  resembling  the 
frond  of  a  fern.  The  leaves  have  the  flavor  and  odor  of 
tansy. 

In  Maine  the  Arbor- Yitse,  next  to  the  black  spruce 
and  hemlock,  is  more  frequent  than  any  other  of  the 
evergreens.  It  delights  in  cold,  damp  soils,  and  abounds 
on  the  rocky  shores  of  streams  and  lakes.  It  sometimes 
constitutes  a  forest  of  several  acres,  with  but  a  slight  in- 
termixture of  other  trees,  predominating  in  proportion  to 
the  wetness  of  the  soil  In  the  driest  parts  of  these  bogs 
we  find  the  black  spruce,  the  hemlock,  the  red  birch,  and, 
rarely,  a  few  white  pines. 


400  THE   YEW. 


THE  YEW. 

IN  Great  Britain  the  Yew  is  one  of  the  most  celebrated 
of  trees,  the  one  that  is  generally  consecrated  to  burial- 
grounds,  and  that  most  frequently  overshadows  the  graves 
of  the  dead.  It  is  a  tree  of  second  magnitude,  and  re- 
markable for  its  longevity.  The  American  Yew  is  seldom 
anything  more  than  a  prostrate  shrub,  resembling  branches 
of  fir  spreading  over  the  ground.  It  is  said,  however,  that 
although  it  is  a  creeping  shrub  on  the  Atlantic  coast,  it 
becomes  a  tree  on  the  coast  of  the  Pacific ;  in  like  man- 
ner the  alder,  which  is  a  shrub  here,  becomes  a  tree  in 
Oregon  and  California. 

In  New  England,  the  Yew  is  a  solitary  tree,  growing 
among  deciduous  trees  as  if  it  required  their  protection. 
It  never  constitutes  a  forest  either  here  or  in  Europe.  It 
seems  to  love  the  shade,  and  when  it  is  not  under  the 
protection  of  trees,  it  is  found  on  the  shady  sides  of  hills, 
and  in  moist,  clayey  soils,  but  never  on  sandy  plains.  I 
shall  not  speak  of  the  romantic  customs  associated  with 
the  European  Yew ;  but  the  absence  of  this  tree  deprives 
us  of  a  very  romantic  feature  in  landscape. 


r,  LIFE  I! 


»»2.s  with- 
He  is  ft 


/ 


EUEAL  LIFE  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

IT  has  often  seemed  to  me,  that,  while  the  world  is 
progressing  in  the  mechanic  arts  and  in  the  refinements 
of  civilized  life,  we  are  losing  ground  in  that  healthful 
simplicity  that  marked  the  habits  of  our  ancestors.  Epi- 
cures taught  that  the  secret  of  happiness  is  to  preserve 
our  tranquillity.  Practical  philosophy  has  not  discovered 
anything  in  contradiction  of  this  maxim,  though  the  in- 
stincts of  men  prompt  them  to  seek  excitement.  There 
is  a  kind  of  sentimental  yearning  for  the  quiet  and  sim- 
plicity of  rural  life,  but  there  is  a  more  active  impulse 
in  the  breast  of  the  young,  that  draws  them  away  from 
humble  pursuits,  and  forces  them  into  the  march  of 
ambition  and  fortune-hunting.  The  wisest  are  those  who 
content  themselves  with  simple  rustic  occupations,  with- 
out falling  into  habits  of  indolence  and  apathy.  He  is  a 
happy  man  who  can  preserve  his  calmness  and  self-pos- 
session without  losing  his  energy ;  who  can  sit  in  coun- 
cils of  state,  and  not  be  carried  away  by  party  zeal  and 
ambition,  and,  on  the  other  hand,  can  swing  a  scythe  or 
hold  a  plough  without  entirely  discarding  more  thought- 
ful employments.  The  great  are  they  who  are  not  con- 
trolled by  those  circumstances  that  give  to  other  men 
their  principal  hues  of  character. 

The  life  of  a  farmer  has  been  a  theme  for  the  praises 
of  poets  and  orators  from  the  earliest  ages.  The  pleas- 
ures and  comforts  attending  his  labors  have  been  so 
often  eulogized,  that  the  praise  bestowed  upon  them  has 
come  to  be  considered  one  of  the  platitudes  of  ordinary 


402  RURAL  LIFE  IN   NEW  ENGLAND. 

eloquence,  and  without  any  substantial  truth.  Indeed,  I 
believe  our  people  have  generally  set  it  aside  as  a  senti- 
mental fiction,  and  regard  the  worship  of  Plutus  as  far 
more  rational  than  the  quiet  service  of  the  rustic  Pan. 
Yet  of  all  occupations  that  of  a  farmer  seems  to  me  the 
most  delightful  and  the  most  promotive  of  health  and 
happiness.  Men  will  not  accept  this  theory,  because  they 
cannot  divest  their  minds  of  a  prejudice,  which  has  be- 
come in  the  American  mind  almost  an  instinct,  that  no 
man  can  be  happy  who  does  not  feel  that  he  is  rapidly 
growing  rich. 

The  farmer,  above  all  other  men,  enjoys  daily  inter- 
course with  pleasant  rural  objects.  The  feast  of  the  gods 
is  constantly  before  him ;  and  though  he  may  seem  indif- 
ferent to  its  pleasures,  his  happiness  is  materially  im- 
proved by  it.  Though  he  may  profess  to  care  nothing 
for  the  songs  of  birds,  or  the  beauty  of  trees  and  flowers, 
he  derives  from  them  more  enjoyment  than  he  is  capable 
of  estimating.  He  may  not  know  how  much  happiness 
he  owes  to  robust  health,  to  active  exercise,  to  fresh  air 
and  bright  sunshine ;  but  he  does  not,  on  account  of  his 
ignorance,  derive  any  less  benefit  or  less  pleasure  from 
the  air  he  breathes,  from  the  health  that  renders  him 
buoyant  and  cheerful,  and  from  the  sunshine  that  warms 
and  enlightens  him ;  neither  does  the  man  who  gives  no 
heed  to  the  songs  of  the  birds  and  the  beauties  of  land- 
scape consequently  derive  no  pleasure  from  these  objects 
when  they  surround  his  home  and  mingle  with  his  pur- 
suits. 

The  simplicity  of  a  farmer's  life  is  one  of  its  principal 
charms.  His  pleasures  and  his  toils  are  equally  rational 
and  delightful.  He  goes  out  to  freedom  under  an  open 
sky,  and  he  returns  to  a  home  unincumbered  with  fashion 
and  absurd  conventionalities.  There  are  duties  to  be  per- 
formed at  certain  hours ;  but  there  is  seldom  a  day  which 


RURAL  LIFE  IN   NEW  ENGLAND.  405 

and  prefers  to  linger  with  the  rustic  who  does  not  invite 
her,  rather  than  with  him  who,  spurred  by  emulation, 
tampers  with  those  lovely  objects  with  which  nature  will 
not  allow  the  impertinent  interference  of  taste  and  art. 
Health  waits  upon  his  steps,  though  he  neglects  her  laws ; 
Fortune  rewards  him,  though  he  lays  no  gifts  upon  her 
altar ;  he  thrives  though  he  has  but  little  calculation, 
and  his  industry  obtains  higher  reward  than  his  neighbors' 
ingenuity. 

But  why  should  this  often  uncultivated  clown  be  so 
particular  an  object  of  Nature's  favors  ?  Why  should 
Providence  bless  him  with  more  content  than  the  weal- 
thy tradesman,  who  would  scorn  his  whole  possessions  ? 
Because  the  gifts  of  Nature  and  the  blessings  of  Heaven 
are  for  the  meek  and  humble,  and  Virtue  loves  to  bestow 
her  rewards  upon  those  who  are  simple  in  their  habits 
and  frugal  in  their  desires.  Hence,  though  he  possesses 
but  little  of  the  ideal,  the  lovers  of  the  poetic  and  pic- 
turesque are  delighted  with  his  creations;  and  though 
'destitute  of  culture,  the  refined  and  the  educated  are 
pleased  with  his  company  and  remember  his  sayings. 

We  overlook  in  his  conversation  those  modes  of  speech 
and  those  refinements  of  thought  which  we  look  for  in 
circles  of  superior  social  rank  We  link  him  by  unavoid- 
able association  with  the  trees,  the  rocks,  the  animals,  and 
the  rude  implements  which  are  subject  to  his  command. 
We  detect  interesting  likenesses  between  him  —  with  his 
robust  frame,  his  swarthy  countenance,  and  his  plain 
language  —  and  the  shepherd  swains  of  the  pastoral  poets. 
Bright  summer  suns  and  keen  winter  blasts  have  imbued 
him  with  a  kindred  cheerfulness  and  ruggedness ;  -but 
open  skies  and  independent  labor  have  given  him  a 
freedom  of  deportment  and  dignity,  which,  with  all  his 
defects  of  education,  elevate  him  above  the  level  of  a 
c!6wn. 


406  KURAL  LITE  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

When  toil  ceases,  the  farmer's  daughter  covers  the 
table  with  brown  damask,  and  prepares  a  simple  enter- 
tainment as  neat  as  it  is  bountiful,  and  the  more  grateful 
because  it  is  unostentatious.  The  laborers,  with  a  joyful 
appreciation  of  the  luxuries  of  the  frugal  board,  express 
their  .delight  by  complimenting  in  their  awkward  way  the 
neat  hands  of  the  damsel  who  has  ministered  to  their 
wants.  No  fairy  queen  could  move  with  more  grace  or 
act  with  more  benevolence  than  this  young  girl,  among 
these  less  refined  swains,  administering  the  bounties  of 
the  table.  With  hands  as  white  as  her  teacups,  and 
cheeks  that  rival  the  downy  carmine  of  the  peach,  no 
lordly  assemblage  was  ever  attended  by  a  more  lively 
embodiment  of  grace,  tenderness,  and  wit. 

To  the  field,  before  they  have  consumed  their  remain- 
ing leisure  in  gossip  and  jovialty,  they  are  summoned  by 
the  distant  muttering  of  a  dark  cloud  that  moves  slowly 
up  the  horizon.  A  current  of  wind  bears  it  steadily  in  a 
direction  that  may  save  them  from  its  force ;  but  they 
know  it  may  be  leading  along  another  cloud  to  which  it 
has  been  wedded  by  electricity.  The  trembling  mirage 
that  has  all  the  noonday  been  suspended  over  the  arid 
fields  still  glimmers  in  the  hot  beams  of  the  sun.  The 
balm  of  a  whole  season  of  flowers  and  sweet-scented  herbs 
is  ascending  like  an  incense-offering  to  heaven.  A  fresh 
breeze,  laden  with  the  moisture  of  the  south-wind,  im- 
proves all  these  odors,  and  renders  toil  less  wearisome  to 
the  swain.  All  hands  are  now  busy ;  the  lumbering 
wagon  has  entered  the  field  ;  the  hay  is  raked  into  swaths 
and  rolled  into  heaps,  and  hands  and  feet,  rakes  and 
pitchforks,  are  engaged  in  complicated  manoeuvres,  by 
which  the  hay  is  rapidly  transferred  from  the  field  to  the 
cart,  and  from  the  cart  to  the  hay-loft.  Their  implements 
are  laid  aside,  and  the  haymakers'  work  is  done. 

The  cloud  that  gleamed  with  occasional  fire  and  stimu- 


EUEAL  LIFE   IN  NEW   ENGLAND.  407 

lated  the  action  of  the  haymakers  by  its  distant  and  sullen 
roar  has  passed  away ;  but  it  was  the  leader  of  a  gloomy 
cohort  of  angry  masses,  slowly  moving  upward  from  the 
gathering-place  of  the  storm.  A  dense  mass  of  sombre 
cloud  is  rising  from  the  west,  and  above  it  are  many 
domes  and  pyramids,  tipped  with  fire  of  a  dazzling  white- 
ness. Below  is  darkness  almost  impenetrable,  through 
which  we  perceive  the  fantastic  course  of  the  lightning,  as 
if  a  sudden  rent  in  the  cloud  had  revealed  through  its 
crevices  some  dazzling  fires  beyond.  The  weary  swains, 
assembled  under  the  roof  of  the  cottage,  sit  at  open  doors 
and  windows,  and  watch  the  movements  of  the  storm, 
yielding  themselves  voluptuously  to  the  cooler  breezes 
that  precede  it.  The  loudening  notes  from  the  cloudy 
band  denote  its  nearness.  The  sun  is  obscured,  the  air 
is  darkened,  the  leaves  whirl  fitfully,  and  the  trees  bow 
their  heads  to  the  invisible  force  of  the  wind.  Smoking 
rain,  and  flashing  darkness,  and  crashing  bolts  of  fire,  give 
them  an  awful  announcement  of  the  beauty  and  sublimity 
of  the  tempest  that  has  long  threatened  the  land. 

Hay-time  passes  with  summer,  and  autumn  invites 
the  swain  to  a  new  round  of  toil  and  pastime.  He  re- 
joices in  an  abundance  hardly  to  be  purchased  with 
gold  by  those  who  congregate  in  towns ;  not  displayed 
like  a  shopman's  wares  in  precise  arrangements  to  lure 
the  eyes  of  passengers,  but  scattered  far  and  wide,  as  if 
they  were  flung  gratuitously  from  the  skies.  Grapes  in 
purple  clusters,  basking  in  the  sunshine,  garland  the  stone- 
wall, which  seems  like  a  natural  trellis.  Apples  are  red- 
dening in  the  orchard  trees,  under  the  ripening  influence 
of  the  sun,  or  lie  in  heaps  of  variegated  colors  upon  the 
ground.  Peaches  with  downy  cheeks,  wearing  the  blush 
of  mellow  ripeness,  are  drooping  voluptuously  from  their 
slender  boughs.  Quince-trees  in  gleaming  rows  along  the 
fences  tempt  the  visitor  with  the  golden  apples  of  the 


408  RURAL  LIFE  IN  NEW  ENGLAND. 

Hesperides.  Every  wayside  in  the  country  is  adorned 
with  a  similar  profusion  ;  and  glittering  varieties  of  fruits 
hang  from  thousands  of  boughs  and  sprinkle  the  green 
turf  of  every  orchard. 

Nature  has  benevolently  made  all  these  objects  delight- 
ful to  man,  that  he  may  be  tempted  to  join  the  husband- 
man in  those  pursuits  which,  being  the  most  noble  occu- 
pations, were  assigned,  according  to  the  narrative  of  Moses, 
to  the  great  progenitor  of  our  race.  Man,  urged  by  am- 
bition, leaves  these  peaceful  avocations,  to  explore  the 
seas  or  join  the  game  of  fortune  in  the  city.  But  never 
in  his  solitary  moments  does  his  bosom  cease  to  yearn  for 
his  ancient  rural  home,  the  rustic  employments  of  his 
youth,  his  wanderings  among  the  hills,  his  angling  by 
green  pebbly  watercourses,  and  the  innumerable  pleas- 
ures of  the  field  and  farm. 

Fortunate  men,  whose  ambition,  if  it  has  sometimes  led 
you  to  wander  into  other  paths,  is  mainly  satisfied  with 
performing  well  the  duties  of  your  pleasant,  laborious 
life  !  Under  the  shade  of  the  elm  that  guards  the  enclos- 
ures of  the  old  farm-house  you  may  discourse  upon  the 
fate  of  nations ;  but  the  Arcadian  sun  never  shone  upon 
a  people  so  blessed  with  all  the  arts  that  will  make  life 
happy.  He  is  the  true  model  farmer,  though  he  may 
own  some  fields  where  a  bird  might  find  shelter  in  a  hazel 
copse,  or  where  a  child  might  linger  to  pluck  a  wild 
flower,  who  can  exhibit  in  his  own  humble  and  rural  home 
the  best  examples  of  domestic  virtue  and  happiness.  If 
the  profits  of  his  farm  are  small,  the  wants  of  his  family 
are  rational  and  few.  He  lives  in  an  unpretending  house, 
not  embellished  to  suit  the  vulgar  demands  of  taste, 
but  adapted  to  utility  and  convenience.  But  "  there  is 
an  angel  within  the  house  " ;  and  I  often  think,  as  I  cast 
my  eyes  about  the  rooms,  and  look  upon  the  plain  and 
modest  furniture,  the  clean  and  bright  utensils,  the  ruddy 


KUKAL  LIFE  IN   NEW   ENGLAND.  409 

and  smiling  children,  and  the  neat  and  comfortable  aspect 
of  everything  within  doors  and  without,  that  here  is  true 
philosophy,  where  health  is  not  sacrificed  to  wealth,  nor 
simplicity  to  pride,  nor  beauty  to  ornament,  nor  charity  to 
selfishness,  nor  domestic  peace  to  fashion,  nor  heaven  to 
the  world.  If  the  inhabitants  of  heaven  ever  visit  the 
earth,  this  is  the  home  they  would  delight  to  enter  during 
their  sojournment. 

When  gilded  by  the  morning  sun,  the  smoke  of  its 
chimneys  gracefully  curling  as  if  to  meet  the  silvery 
clouds  that  move  quietly  across  the  sky,  its  windows 
looking  out  modestly  under  a  canopy  of  elms,  he  must 
have  a  soul  that  is  insensible  to  all  moral  beauty  who 
is  not  warmed  with  enthusiasm,  while  gazing  on  this  pic- 
ture of  homely  happiness,  with  all  the  goodness  that 
dwells  within  it  and  the  simple  luxuries  that  are  spread 
around  it.  Come  when  we  may,  within  and  without  is 
always  something  to  exhilarate  the  soul  and  to  warm 
the  heart  in  this  home  of  peace ;  on  a  summer  morning, 
resonant  through  all  its  leafy  umbrage  with  the  notes  of 
birds,  at  noonday  alive  with  the  busy  return  of  laborers 
from  the  field  and  children  from  school,  and  in  the  even- 
ing vocal  with  the  sounds  of  music  and  merriment. 

A  group  of  trees  at  a  small  distance  from  the  house, 
upon  a  slight  eminence,  half  shades  a  primitive  well,  from 
which  the  water  is  raised  by  means  of  a  crosspole.  Simi- 
lar wells  were  formerly  numerous  in  all  parts  of  the  coun- 
try, and  wherever  they  are  now  seen  they  are  sure  evi- 
dence of  ancient  manners  and  hospitality  within  the  house. 
Into  this  well,  through  the  interwoven  branches  of  elms 
and  maples,  the  sun  sheds  upon  the  glassy  surface  a 
picture  of  gold,  emerald,  and  sapphire,  as  the  colors  and 
forms  of  the  leaves,  the  blue  sky,  and  the  snow-white 
clouds  are  cast  upon  it.  "We  look  upon  this  picture 
through  a  circle  of  embroidered  mosses,  ferns,  and  lichens, 

18 


410  EUKAL   LIFE   IN   NEW   ENGLAND. 

that  cluster  upon  the  old  rocks,  resembling  a  flight  of 
rustic  steps  down  to  the  fountain  below. 

When  the  farmer's  daughter  steps  out,  with  her  sisters, 
under  the  shade  of  trees  or  upon  the  green  slope  that 
fronts  the  homestead,  no  princess  was  ever  more  devoutly 
attended  by  all  the  lovely  ministrants  of  nature.  The 
gales  shed  around  her  path  the  incense  of  roses  and  hon- 
eysuckles, twining  over  the  rustic  porch,  of  lilies  in  the 
garden,  and  lilacs  in  the  nook  of  the  enclosure.  Wild 
flowers,  undaunted  by  the  simple  art  that  prevails  in  these 
rustic  grounds,  creep  boldly  up  to  the  very  doorstep, 
stealing  away  from  the  wild  growth  that  fringes  the  way- 
side. And  she  who  treads  these  paths  may  not  envy  the 
princess  who  watches  the  streams  from  marble  fountains, 
and  breathes  the  incense  of  the  tropics  under  the  roof  of 


f  sj*;  producti 

.  is  seen  ; 

i,  far  above  I 


p  and    • 
.      .-a  its  evi 

.ts  silken 


THE  WHITE  PINE. 

THE  pines  in  general  have  not  the  formality  that  distin- 
guishes the  fir  and  the  spruce.  They  seldom  display  so 
much  of  a  pyramidal  shape  as  we  observe  in  a  symmetri- 
cal fir.  Their  leaves  are  longer,  and  their  branches  not 
so  regularly  given  out  in  whorls.  They  are  also  more 
generally  round-headed  when  old;  their  leaves  are  in 
small  fascicles,  containing  from  two  to  five,  while  those 
of  the  fir  are  arranged  singly  along  the  branch  or  round 
it.  The  pine  contains  a  greater  quantity  of  turpentine 
than  any  other  family  of  resinous  trees,  and  many  of  the 
species  are  of  the  highest  value  in  the  mechanic  arts. 
In  the  New  England  States  three  species  only  are  known, 
and  of  these  two  only  are  common. 

The  most  remarkable  of  this  family  of  trees,  an.d  the  one 
that  comes  nearest  the  fir  in  symmetry  and  formality, 
is  the  White  Pine.  But  though  like  the  fir  in  symme- 
try, it  resembles  it  the  least  in  all  other  qualities,  having 
the  most  flexibility  of  foliage  of  all  the  pines,  and  bearing 
its  leaves  in  fives.  The  White  Pine,  according  to  Michaux, 
"  is  the  loftiest  and  most  valuable  of  the  productions  of  the 
North  American  forest.  Its  summit  is  seen  at  an  im- 
mense distance,  aspiring  to  heaven,  far  above  the  heads 
of  the  surrounding  trees." 

At  first  sight  of  a  full-grown  and  well-proportioned 
White  Pine  we  are  struck  with  its  evident  adaptedness 
to  all  purposes  of  shade  and  shelter,  in  its  wide-spread, 
horizontal  branches,  and  in  its  silken  tufted  foliage.  It  is 
not  impenetrable  to  sunshine,  but  admits  it  in  constant 


412  THE  WHITE  PINE. 

•flickering  beams  of  light;  and  we  perceive  immediately 
that  there  is  no  other  tree  in  whose  shade  it  would  be 
more  agreeable  to  recline  on  a  hot  summer's  day,  or  under 
whose  protection  we  might  obtain  a  greater  amount  of 
comfort  in  winter.  The  uniform  arrangement  of  its 
branches  in  whorls,  forming  a  series  of  stages  one  above 
another,  its  tasselled  foliage  in  long,  silky  tufts  at  the  ends 
of  the  branches,  and  its  symmetrical  outline,  constitute 
in  the  most  obvious  sense  a  beautiful  tree.  These  tufts, 
though  not  pendulous,  have  none  of  the  stiff  bristling  ap- 
pearance of  the  other  pines ;  and  their  verdure  is  of  a 
sober,  not  a  sombre  tint,  though  rather  dull  in  lustre. 

The  symmetry  or  formality  which  some  writers  condemn 
in  the  style  of  this  tree  is  not  of  a  disagreeable  kind,  like 
that  of  the  Norway  spruce.  It  is  combined  both  with 
majesty  and  grace,  and  increases  the  grandeur  of  its 
appearance,  like  the  architectural  proportions  of  a  tem- 
ple in  which  grandeur  could  not  be  produced  without 
symmetry.  This  tree  has  much  of  the  amplitude  so  re- 
markable in  the  cedar  of  Lebanon.  Hence  the  look  of 
primness,'  which  the  firs  always  retain,  is  counteracted 
by  its  nobleness  and  altitude.  It  is  combined  also  with  a 
certain  negligent  habit  of  its  leafy  robes,  that  softens  its 
dignity  into  grace,  and  causes  it  to  wear  its  honors  like 
one  who  feels  no  constraint  under  their  burden. 

The  White  Pine  has  no  legendary  history.  Being  an 
American  tree,  it  is  celebrated  neither  in  poetry  nor  ro- 
mance. It  is  associated  with  no  classical  images,  like  the 
oak,  nor  with  sacred  literature,  like  the  cedar  of  Lebanon. 
It  has  no  poetic  history  and  no  reputation  save  what  it 
may  have  derived  from  the  easy  motion  of  its  foliage,  the 
gentle  sweep  of  its  smaller  branches,  its  terebinthine  odors, 
and  its  pleasant,  romantic  shade.  It  has  no  factitious 
charms,  but  depends  on  its  own  intrinsic  merits  for  the 
pleasure  it  affords  either  the  sight  or  the  mind.  In  New 


AGKICULTURAL  PKOGKESS. 

DR.  FRANKLIN,  on  seeing  a  fly  escape  from  a  bottle  in 
which  for  a  long  period  it.  had  been  confined  in  a  torpid 
state,  expressed  a  wish  that  he  could  be  corked  up  in  the 
same  manner  for  a  century  or  more,  and  then  awake,  like 
the  fly,  to  witness  the  progress  that  had  been  made  in  his 
beloved  country.  But  when  I  consider  the  inevitable 
tendency  of  steam-power  to  concentrate  wealth  into  the 
hands  of  capitalists,  I  feel  as  if  I  should  be  reluctant 
to  wake  up  some  ages  hence  to  view  my  country  when 
the  world  is  finished.  Though  steam  in  its  application  to 
travelling  and  manufactures  has  conferred  great  apparent 
benefits  on  mankind,  we  have  reason  to  dread  the  ulti- 
mate consequences  to  small  independent  farmers  of  the 
introduction  of  steam-power  into  the  operations  of  agricul- 
ture. However  expedient  the  system  of  associated  cap- 
ital may  be  for  the  growth  of  manufactures,  it  would 
be  destructive  to  the  prosperity  of  small  farming.  The 
corporations,  executing  all  their  heavy  labor  by  steam- 
power  and  by  mammoth  implements,  would  crowd  out  of 
the  ranks  of  agriculture  all  whose  farms  were  of  such 
small  extent  that  steam  could  not  be  profitably  used  by 
them.  In  competing  with  the  companies,  the  small 
farmer  would  find  himself  in  the  situation  of  the  hand- 
spinner  and  the  hand-weaver  who  should  undertake  to 
compete  with  the  manufactories  of  Lowell  and  Lawrence. 

The  system  of  steam-farming  would  make  it  necessary 
that  agriculture  should  be  carried  on  by  large  associations 
of  capital  and  on  a  magnificent  scale  of  operations.  All 


416  AGEICTILTURAL   PROGRESS. 

agricultural  implements  which  are  moved  by  steam  must 
be  profitable  in  a  certain  ratio  to  the  extent  of  even  and 
uninterrupted  surface  which  is  to  be  tilled.  On  small 
fields  it  would  be  impossible  to  use  them  with  success. 
Hence  the  necessity  of  farming  by  associated  capital,  and 
of  greatly  increasing  the  size  of  farms  by  converting  many 
into  one.  Under  such  "  improved  "  conditions,  the  pres- 
ent system  of  farming  could  not  stand  in  competition 
with  steam-farming.  The  agricultural  corporations,  with 
their  implements  operated  by  steam,  would  cultivate  ten 
acres  with  less  expense  than  is  now  employed  in  culti- 
vating one  acre.  If  the  moral  and  physical  improvement 
of  mankind  were  to  be  the  effect  of  this  new  system,  the 
prospect  would  be  delightful.  But  no  such  happy  results 
would  spring  from  it ;  laboring  men,  instead  of  being 
elevated  into  lords,  would  be  degraded  into  mere  ma- 
chines. 

Men  are  too  prone  to  base  their  theories  of  human  pro- 
gress on  the  assumption  that  labor  is  a  curse,  and  not,  as 
it  is,  when  freely  and  justly  rewarded,  a  blessing.  But 
labor  ceases  to  be  free  when  the  laborers  are  under  the 
control  and  in  the  power  of  mammoth  associations.  La- 
bor then  becomes  servitude,  which  is  closely  allied  to 
slavery.  No  one  would  say  that,  under  the  present  cir- 
cumstances of  the  country,  the  operatives  in  our  factories, 
however  well  paid,  are  as  free  as  our  farmers,  masons,  and 
carpenters.  "When  labor  is  performed  by  powerful  ma- 
chines, man  becomes  a  slave  to  the  machinery ;  when,  on 
the  other  hand,  the  implements  in  use  are  small,  the 
machinery  is  the  servant  of  man.  The  production  will 
be  greater  in  the  former  case ;  but  the  health  and  freedom 
of  man  are  sacrificed  to  obtain  it.  The  object  of  the 
statesman  and  the  philanthropist  should  be  to  make  the 
people  free,  virtuous,  and  happy ;  and  any  increase  of 
the  national  wealth  which  is  obtained  at  the  expense  of 


AGRICULTURAL  PROGRESS.  417 

the  moral  and  physical  welfare  of  the  people  is  not  to  be 
desired.  But  it  may  be  asked  by  some  jealous  friend  of 
progress,  if  it  is  right  to  refuse  to  agriculture  those  aids 
which  have  built  up  our  manufactures  ?  I  reply,  that  we 
should  refuse  to  agriculture  any  aid  which  is  not  benefi- 
cial to  the  agriculturist ;  for  the  farmer  is  of  more  impor- 
tance than  his  crops.  Let  us  not  increase  the  products  of 
labor  by  any  means  that  will  degrade  man. 

To  illustrate  the  consequences  of  this  system  of  agri- 
cultural progress,  we  will  apply  it  to  an  imagined  case. 
We  will  suppose  that  in  some  indefinite  period  of  the 
future,  when  steam -farm ing  by  associated  capital  has 
become  nearly  universal,  there  remains  in  a  certain  part 
of  the  country  one  of  those  farming  villages  which  are 
now  so  common  in  our  happy  land.  The  farmers  in  this 
place  are  intelligent  workingmen  and  small  land  propri- 
etors, who  have  but  little  wealth  except  their  houses, 
lands,  and  stock,  and  support  themselves  by  industry  and 
honest  trade.  After  steam-ploughs,  steam-rakes,  steam- 
mowing-machines,  and  other  magnificent  improvements 
of  the  same  kind,  have  swept  over  the  country,  they  arrive 
lastly  at  this  antiquated  village,  where  labor  is  free,  and 
where  the  farmers  are  so  far  behind  the  times  as  to  own 
the  lands  they  till,  and  carry  on  farming  as  in  the  present 
age  of  political  and  social  equality. 

These  industrious  farmers  have  ascertained  by  bitter 
experience  that  by  using  hand-implements  and  horse 
and  cattle  power  in  the  operations  of  farming,  they  can- 
not compete  with  the  great  agricultural  corporations. 
The  agent  of  a  new  company,  chartered  with  a  hundred 
millions  of  capital,  offers  to  these  unhappy  men  a  price 
for  their  farms,  which,  though  far  less  than  their  original 
value,  they  feel  obliged  to  accept,  especially  as  a  promise 
accompanies  the  offer  that  they  shall  be  employed  as 
laborers  on  the  soil,  under  the  direction  of  the  officers  of 

18*  A  A 


418  AGRICULTURAL   PROGRESS. 

the  company,  educated  at  an  agricultural  college.  The 
majority  consent  to  the  sale,  and  the  remainder  are  forced 
to  consent  by  a  law  of  the  Legislature,  placing  it  in  the 
power  of  corporations,  "  established  for  the  public  good," 
to  seize  upon  any  refractory  individual's  estate,  after  pay- 
ing him  what  a  body  of  commissioners  have  declared  an 
eqtiivalent.  These  mammoth  agricultural  companies,  by 
means  of  political  intriguing  and  bribery,  would  easily 
obtain  sufficient  influence  over  any  legislative  body  to 
cause  the  enactment  of  such  a  law.  This  any  one  will 
believe  who  has  had  political  experience,  and  who  knows 
how  easily  the  most  tyrannical  and  unjust  measures  may 
be  carried  by  making  them  party  tests. 

Let  us  now  observe  the  consequences,  after  this  little 
village  of  happy  and  independent  laborers  has  been  con- 
verted into  a  mammoth  farm,  owned  by  a  company  and 
carried  on  by  steam-power.  At  the  beginning,  all  the 
pleasant  old  farm-houses  are  removed,  because  they  stand 
in  the  way  of  tillage,  which  is  performed  as  much  as 
possible  in  large  undivided  lots.  All  fences  and  bounda- 
ries, except  those  by  the  roadside,  are  for  the  same  reason 
taken  down,  to  open  all  the  small  fields  into  one ;  for  it 
has  been  ascertained  that  no  single  field  can  be  worked 
with  the  best  advantage,  unless  it  contains  at  least  five 
hundred  acres.  The  larger  the  field,  the  more  profitably 
can  it  be  worked  by  steam.  Hence  the  preliminaries  for 
steam-farming  are  necessarily  a  work  of  devastation. 
Many  delightful  groups  of  trees  and  shrubbery,  some  that 
skirted  a  winding  brook,  others  that  bordered  the  fences, 
including  many  standard  oaks  and  elms,  are  swept  to  the 
ground,  rooted  up  by  some  giant  infernal  machine  as  easily 
as  a  farmer  pulls  up  weeds.  All  abruptly  swelling  ridges 
and  other  eminences,  the  charm  of  many  a  landscape, 
some  of  them  beautifully  crowned  with  trees  and  shrubs, 
and  others  fringed  with  wild  flowers  and  covered  with 


AGRICULTURAL  PROGRESS.  419 

green  herbage,  and  forming  numerous  little  valleys  smil- 
ing in  sunshine,  or  sweetly  sleeping  under  the  summer 
shade  of  trees,  where  the  flocks  found  a  comfortable  resort 
in  all  weathers,  are  now  converted  into  one  vast  level. 

The  brooks  are  conducted  into  canals,  and  carried  along 
in  straight  courses  for  the  convenience  of  labor  and  pur- 
poses of  irrigation ;  for  it  is  necessary  that  their  circuities 
should  not  interfere  with  the  progress  of  the  steam-plough. 
In  fine,  the  pleasing  variety  of  surface  that  beautified  the 
landscape  when  it  was  in  the  possession  of  the  inhab- 
itants ;  those  quiet,  rustic  lanes,  fringed  with  wild  roses, 
hawthorns,  and  viburnums,  conducting  from  the  dwelling- 
houses  to  the  adjoining  fields  and  woods ;  the  comfortable 
enclosures  that  resounded  with  the  lowing  of  cattle  and 
the  cheerful  noise  of  poultry ;  and,  worst  fate  of  all,  the 
old  farm-house,  where  the  patriarch  of  a  small  estate  pre- 
sided over  a  happy  family,  happy  because  they  were  free 
and  healthfully  employed,  —  all,  all  are  swept  away  by 
this  besom  of  improvement. 

And  where  are  the  inhabitants  ?  The  sturdy  yeoman 
who,  though  doomed  to  hard  labor,  found  this  labor  sweet 
because  it  was  voluntary,  the  happy  and  independent 
swain,  who  called  no  man  master,  and  who  was  really  a 
king  in  his  own  acres,  is  now  a  hired  servant  of  the  cor- 
poration. The  farmers,  their  wives,  and  their  children, 
have  all  been  reduced  to  servitude  in  this  grand  manufac- 
tory of  corn  and  vegetables.  The  tiller  of  the  soil  has 
become  a  slave  to  his  occupation.  Each  thousand  acres 
devoted  to  a  single  crop  is  managed  by  an  agent  imported 
from  the  city,  who  receives  a  large  salary  as  superinten- 
dent, and  pays  out  their  weekly  pittance  to  the  farm  labor- 
ers. In  order  to  facilitate  operations,  there  is  a  minute 
division  of  labor,  as  in  the  cotton  and  woollen  factories. 
Some  of  the  farmers  are  employed  exclusively  as  shovel- 
lers ;  some  are  only  drivers  of  cattle ;  some  ride  on  the 


420  AGRICULTURAL  PKOGRESS. 

engine ;  all,  indeed,  are  confined  to  one  special  manipula- 
tion. 

The  several  families,  except  those  who  left  their  he- 
reditary employment  and  emigrated  to  some  other  place, 
are  tenants  of  wooden  boxes  put  up  close  to  the  road  for 
the  economizing  of  land.  All  these  are  in  exact  uniform- 
ity, —  "  model  tenements,"  —  stuck  up  into  the  air,  with- 
out garden  or  enclosure,  and  owned  by  the  corporation. 
The  majority  of  the  farmers,  flattered  with  the  hope  of 
securing  their  wealth,  invested  all  their  money  in  the  cor- 
poration stock,  which  they  were  soon  induced  to  sell  at 
immense  sacrifice,  because  the  extravagance  and  dishon- 
esty of  the  company's  agents  absorbed  all  their  profits. 
and  cut  down  their  dividends.  In  less  than  ten  years 
every  one  of  these  independent  farmers  was  a  poor  man ; 
and  the  village  children,  who  lived  as  free  as  the  birds  of 
the  air  in  their  former  rural  homes,  now  work  in  pla- 
toons upon  such  parts  of  farm  labor  as  they  are  able  to 
perform.  Before  the  village  was  sold  and  converted  into 
a  mammoth  farm,  you  might  see  the  little  children  with 
their  satchels  going  regularly  to  the  district  schools,  clad 
in  neat  and  various  attire,  skipping  and  playing  on  the 
road,  full  of  gladness  and  freedom.  Now  they  are  called 
up  in  the  morning  by  the  ringing  of  a  bell.  They  rise, 
they  work,  they  eat,  they  go  to  bed,  and  they  sleep  to  the 
sound  of  a  bell  that  tolls  dismally  in  their  weary  ears  the 
knell  of  all  their  former  joys. 

In  the  story  of  this  once  happy  village  and  its  inhab- 
itants we  may  read  the  fate  of  the  whole  country  if  the 
steam-engine  should  ever  be  introduced  into  the  opera- 
tions of  farming,  which  would,  as  an  inevitable  conse- 
quence, be  carried  on  by  associated  capital.  Such  a 
class  as  our  independent  laboring  farmers  —  the  only  un- 
degenerated  class  in  any  civilized  country  —  would  cease 
to  exist.  If  it  be  progress  or  improvement  to  convert  all 


AGRICULTURAL  PROGRESS.  421 

these  hardy  swains  into  hirelings  under  the  agents  of 
wealthy  institutions,  then  progress  is  a  curse  and  improve- 
ment a  process  of  degeneracy.  I  am  unwilling  to  admit 
any  measures  to  be  progressive  that  lessen  the  happiness 
and  liberty  of  men,  how  much  soever  they  may  increase 
the  national  wealth  or  the  productiveness  of  the  arts. 


THE  PITCH  PINK 

THE  Pitch  Pine  differs  very  widely  in  its  style  of 
growth  from  the  white  pine,  and  displays  fewer  of  those 
points  that  excite  our  admiration.  Its  leaves  form  larger 
and  more  diffusive  tufts,  and  are  more  bristling  and  erect 
from  their  superior  rigidity.  It  is  remarkable  for  its 
rough  and  shaggy  appearance;  hence  its  Latin  name, 
rigida.  Indeed  there  is  not  a  tree  in  our  forest  that 
equals  it  in  the  roughness  that  is  manifest  in  every  part 
of  it  and  in  every  stage  of  its  growth.  This  is  one 
of  the  most  common  trees  in  the  Southern  "pine  bar- 
rens " ;  and  some  of  the  ancient  pine  woods  in  New 
England  were  made  up  principally  of  this  species.  Such 
was  that  extensive  wood  near  Concord,  N.  H.,  known  by 
the  poetic  appellation  of  "  Dark  Plains,"  and  in  the  early 
part  of  the  century  occupying  a  wide  flat  region  in  the 
valley  of  the  Merrimack  Eiver. 

This  species  does  not  give  out  its  branches  horizontally, 
nor  in  regular  whorls.  They  run  up  at  rather  a  wide  an- 
gle with  the  stem,  forming  a  head  that  approaches  more 
nearly  to  a  globular  shape  than  that  of  any  other  of  the 
American  conifers.  The  branches  have  frequently  a  tor- 
tuous shape;  for  when  crowded  in  a  dense  wood  they 
do  not  so  easily  perish  as  those  of  the  white  pine,  but 
turn  in  various  directions  to  find  light  and  space.  They 
are  likewise  often  bent  downwards  at  their  terminations, 
with  a  very  apparent  curvature.  There  is  no  conifer  that 
displays  so  few  straight  lines  in  its  composition;  and, 
having  no  exact  symmetry  in  its  proportions,  it  may  be 


THE  PITCH  PINE.  423 

mutilated  to  a  considerable  extent  without  losing  its  nor- 
mal characters  of  beauty. 

In  young  trees  of  this  species  the  whorls  of  branches 
may  be  plainly  distinguished  ;  but  as  the  tree  increases  in 
size,  so  many  members  of  the  whorl  become  abortive  that 
all  regularity  of  staging  in  their  arrangement  is  destroyed. 
As  these  branches  are  numerous,  with  but  little  space 
between  the  original  whorls,  they  seem  to  project  from 
every  part  of  the  trunk.  This  tree  displays  very  little 
primness  in  its  shape,  or  of  a  spiry  form,  save  when  it 
is  a  very  young  tree.  A  peculiar  habit  of  the  Pitch 
Pine  is  that  of  producing  little  branchlets  full  of  leaves 
along  the  stem  from  the  root  upwards,  completely  en- 
veloping some  of  the  principal  boughs.  These  are  rarely 
anything  more  than  tufts  of  leaves  standing  out  as  if 
they  had  been  grafted  into  the  bark  of  the  tree.  It  seems 
to  be  stimulated  to  produce  this  anomalous  growth  by 
the  loss  of  its  small  branches.  It  then  soon  covers  itself 
with  this  embroidery,  and  thus  garlanded  presents  a  pic- 
turesque appearance  more  interesting  than  that  of  the 
perfect  trees. 

I  have  seen  very  beautiful  Pitch  Pine  trees  of  an  ab- 
normal shape,  caused  by  the  loss,  when  young,  of  the  lead- 
ing shoot.  The  lateral  branches  next  below  this  terminal 
bud,  being  thus  converted  into  leaders,  produce  two  and 
sometimes  three  leading  branches,  giving  the  tree  some 
of  the  characters  of  the  deciduous  species.  The  white 
pine  is  not  improved  by  a  similar  accident,  as  it  loses 
thereby  the  expression  of  grandeur  that  comes  from  the 
length  and  size  of  its  lateral  branches,  which  are  always 
diminished  by  coming  from  two  or  more  leading  shafts. 
Michaux  remarks  that  when  Pitch  Pines  "grow  in  masses, 
the  cones  are  dispersed  singly  over  the  branches,  and  they 
shed  their  seeds  the  first  autumn  after  they  mature.  But 
on  solitary  trees  the  cones  are  collected  in  groups  of  four 


424  THE  PITCH    PINE. 

or  five,  or  even  a  larger  number,  and  will  remain  on  the 
trees,  closed,  for  several  years." 

The  Pitch  Pine  abounds  all  along  the  coast  from  Mas- 
sachusetts to  the  Carolinas ;  but  it  is  rare  in  the  northern 
parts  of  Maine  and  New  Hampshire  and  north  of  these 
States.  It  is  said  to  have  been  very  abundant  in  the 
southern  part  of  New  England  before  the  eighteenth 
century,  but  large  forests  of  it  were  consumed  in  making 
tar  for  exportation  to  Great  Britain.  The  Pitch  Pine 
woods  of  the  present  day  consist  of  small  stunted  trees, 
showing  by  their  inferior  thrift  that  they  stand  upon 
an  exhausted  soil. 

The  trees  of  this  species,  for  the  most  part  too  homely 
and  rough  to  please  the  sight,  are  not  generally  admired  as 
objects  in  the  landscape ;  but  there  is  a  variety  in  their 
shapes  that  makes  amends  for  their  want  of  comeliness 
and  gives  them  a  marked  importance  in  scenery.  We  do 
not  in  general  sufficiently  estimate  the  value  of  homely 
objects  among  the  scenes  of  nature,  though  they  are  in- 
deed the  groundwork  of  all  charming  scenery,  and  set  off 
to  advantage  the  beauty  of  more  comely  objects.  They 
give  rest  and  relief  to  the  eye,  after  it  has  felt  the  stimu- 
lus of  beautiful  forms  and  colors,  that  would  soon  pall 
upon  the  sense ;  and  they  leave  imagination  free  to  dress 
the  scene  according  to  our  own  fancy. 

Hence  I  am  led  to  prize  many  a  homely  tree  as  pos- 
sessing a  high  value,  by  exalting  our  susceptibility  to  beau- 
ty, and  by  relieving  nature  of  that  monotony  which  is  so 
apparent  when  all  the  objects  in  a  scene  are  beautiful. 
We  see  this  monotony  in  all  dressed  grounds  of  consider- 
able extent.  We  soon  become  weary  of  their  ever-flowing 
lines  of  grace  and  elegance,  and  the  harmonious  blending 
of  forms  and  colors  introduced  by  art.  This  principle 
explains  the  difficulty  of  reading  a  whole  volume  writ- 
ten in  verse.  We  soon  weary  of  luxuries;  and  after 


THE   PITCH  PINE.  425 

strolling  in  grounds  laid  out  in  gaudy  flower-beds  and 
smooth  shaven  lawn,  the  tired  eye  rests  with  tranquil 
delight  upon  rude  pastures  bounded  by  loose  stone-walls, 
and  hills  embroidered  with  ferns  and  covered  with  boul- 
ders. 

The  pines  are  not  classed  with  deciduous  trees,  yet 
they  shed  their  leaves  in  autumn  with  constant  regular- 
ity. Late  in  October  you  may  see  the  yellow  or  brown 
foliage,  then  ready  to  fall,  surrounding  the  branches  of 
the  previous  year's  growth,  forming  a  whorl  of  brown 
fringe,  surmounted  by  a  tuft  of  green  leaves  of  the 
present  year's  growth.  Their  leaves  always  turn  yellow 
before  they  fall.  In  the  arbor-vitse  there  is  a  curious 
intermixture  of  brown  leaves  with  the  green  growth  of 
the  past  summer ;  but,  before  November  arrives,  all  the 
faded  leaves  drop,  and  the  tree  forms  a  mass  of  unmin- 
gled  verdure. 


FOEEST  CONSEEVATOEIES. 

IF  we  would  preserve  our  forests,  we  must  also,  in  about 
the  same  ratio,  preserve  the  wild  birds  and  animals  that 
inhabit  them.  The  woods  are  their  houses ;  and  nature 
has  given  them  instincts  and  appetites  that  cannot  be 
indulged,  except  by  their  performance  of  the  very  acts 
which  are  necessary  to  save  their  houses  from  destruction. 
While  the  woodpecker  draws  the  larva  from  its  cylindri- 
cal burrow,  and  while  the  bluebird  seizes  the  beetle  or 
the  caterpillar  that  produces  this  larva,  they  preserve  the 
trees  in  a  sound  and  healthy  condition  by  destroying 
those  insects  which,  if  they  multiplied  without  any  such 
check,  would  soon  cause  the  entire  forest  to  perish.  But 
the  birds,  by  their  consumption  of  insects,  are  no  more 
serviceable  in  the  economy  of  the  forest  than  by  planting 
the  seeds  of  the  trees.  As  planters  of  the  forest  the  small 
quadrupeds  are  as  useful  as  the  birds.  There  is  not,  in- 
deed, an  animal  of  any  tribe,  family,  or  species,  which,  if 
it  be  a  consumer  of  fruit,  is  not  also  a  planter  of  the  vege- 
table that  bears  it.  They  all  possess  some  kind  of  an 
instinct  or  habit  that  leads  to  this  result.  The  jay  and 
the  squirrel,  for  example,  constantly  hoard  nuts  and  grain, 
and,  by  hoarding,  they  plant  that  portion  which  they  do 
not  afterwards  discover.  The  frugivorous  birds  distribute 
the  seeds  of  all  kinds  of  pulpy  fruit  as  equally  over  the 
earth  as  it  could  be  done  by  an  artificial  process.  Even 
the  grouse  and  the  wild  turkey  are  sowers  of  the  grain 
that  constitutes  their  food,  by  scratching  a  considerable 
portion  of  it  into  the  soil. 


FOREST   CONSERVATORIES.  427 

It  is  a  rational  query,  therefore,  whether,  if  certain 
birds  and  quadrupeds  were  annihilated,  the  extinction 
of  the  trees  and  shrubs  that  bear  a  vital  relation  to 
them  would  not  follow  as  an  inevitable  consequence,  in 
the  course  of  time.  Those  species  whose  seeds  are  scat- 
tered by  the  winds  will  never  want  a  planter.  But  pulpy 
fruits  and  heavy  nuts  cannot  be  scattered  by  the  winds,  un- 
less they  be  of  destructive  force ;  they  can  only  be  washed 
down  a  declivity.  They  cannot  be  carried  upwards ;  nor, 
if  the  tree  that  bears  them  stands  on  a  level,  could  they 
without  the  agency  of  certain  animals  be  distributed 
much  beyond  the  space  covered  by  the  tree  that  produced 
them.  Yet  if  seeds  were  never  strewn  beyond  the  limits 
of  the  ground  covered  by  the  parent  tree,  the  species, 
according  to  certain  laws  of  vegetation  perfectly  well 
understood  by  the  agriculturist,  would  ultimately  become 
extinct.  On  this  continent,  which  is  destined  to  be 
crowded  more  densely  with  human  population  than  any 
country  on  earth,  it  behooves  us  who  are  now  living  to 
take  measures  to  prevent  that  sort  of  devastation  which 
would  cause  it  to  be  depopulated  more  rapidly  than  it 
was  peopled. 

I  propose,  therefore,  that  in  every  State  of  the  Union, 
certain  forest  lands  be  purchased,  comprising  an  area  of 
three  or  four  square  miles  each,  in  the  ratio  of  one  such 
tract  to  every  square  degree  of  latitude  and  longitude. 
These  reservations  should  be  kept  as  nearly  as  practica- 
ble in  their  primitive  condition,  or  rather  one  closely 
resembling  our  primitive  forest,  by  encouraging  the  growth 
of  all  their  spontaneous  productions,  and  excluding  from 
them  every  description  of  culture.  I  do  not  mean  that 
trees  and  other  plants  indigenous  in  each  respective  region, 
if  wanting,  should  not  be  introduced,  but  that,  after  their 
introduction,  they  should  be  left  entirely  to  nature.  This 
tract  should  be  a  perpetual  growth  of  wood,  never  to  be 


428  FOREST  CONSERVATORIES. 

disturbed  for  other  purposes,  to  be  set  apart  for  the  pres- 
ervation of  our  indigenous  plants,  and  the  fauna  of  the 
region  in  which  it  may  be  located. 

The  ground  selected  for  this  purpose  I  would  name  a 
Forest  Conservatory.  It  should  consist  of  every  variety 
of  surface,  upland  and  meadow,  hill  and  dale,  level  and 
declivity,  adapted  to  all  kinds  of  native  productions,  and 
at  the  same  time  too  barren  and  uneven  to  be  easily 
reclaimable  and  reduced  to  tillage.  A  moderately  bar- 
'ren  tract  should  be  preferred,  if  it  be  capable  of  sus- 
taining a  healthy  growth  of  wood,  because,  on  account 
of  its  inferior  value,  it  could  be  more  easily  purchased. 
There  are  many  diversified  tracts  of  land  in  every  region 
having  a  thin  layer  of  soil,  upon  a  rocky  and  uneven 
foundation,  entirely  useless  for  tillage,  which  would  nev- 
ertheless sustain  a  heavy  forest.  By  keeping  any  such 
place  covered  with  wood  we  use  it  in  the  only  way  in 
which  it  could  yield  any  particular  advantage  to  the 
country.  It  should  embrace  within  its  limits  either  a 
pond  or  a  part  of  a  small  river,  for  the  benefit  of  water- 
birds;  and  a  certain  proportion  of  the  soil  should  be 
tilled,  for  the  purpose  of  sustaining  the  birds,  which 
would  otherwise  be  obliged  to  seek  their  living  outside, 
and  be  exposed  to  the  gunner. 

The  advantages  afforded  by  these  conservatories  would 
rest  upon  the  whole  community,  though  only  one  person 
in  a  thousand  should  habitually  frequent  them.  They 
would  be  seen  in  their  effects  on  the  local  climate ;  in  the 
growth  of  a  magnificent  wood  in  every  section  of  country ; 
in  the  preservation  of  interesting  animals,  that  would 
otherwise  be  lost  to  that  region,  and  in  the  multiplication 
of  game,  which  would  constantly  overflow  from  this  nur- 
sery into  the  surrounding  country.  These  grounds  would 
be  mostly  frequented  by  those  who  are  addicted  to  the 
pursuits  of  natural  history  and  the  general  study  of 


FOKEST  CONSERVATOEIES.  429 

science.  Yet  there  are  many  who  are  neither  scholars  nor 
naturalists  who  would  delight  in  an  occasional  stroll  in 
these  woods ;  the  female  sex,  especially,  among  whom  a 
certain  refined  intellectual  culture  is  more  general  than 
among  men,  would  find  in  them  a  charming  resort,  dur- 
ing a  greater  part  of  the  year,  under  such  guidance  as 
would  be  provided. 

The  importance  of  forest  conservatories,  set  apart  from 
all  purposes  of  commerce,  agriculture,  and  manufactures, 
and  designed  to  assist  in  regulating  the  beneficent  ac- 
tion of  nature  over  the  whole  wide  country,  cannot  be 
easily  appreciated.  The  masses  do  not  understand  the 
general  principles  upon  which  the  meteorological  effects 
of  a  regular  distribution  of  forest  are  based.  It  is  a  sub- 
ject almost  as  difficult  as  that  of  public  finance.  Our 
people  know  the  value  of  timber  in  the  mechanic  arts, 
and  of  trees  for  shade,  shelter,  and  especially  for  orna- 
ment; for  a  love  of  the  ornate  enters  a  people's  mind 
before  they  have  emerged  from  barbarism.  But  to  under- 
stand the  mysterious  relations  of  trees  and  forests  to  the 
climate  and  soil,  to  drought  and  inundations,  demands 
more  study  than  men  in  general  can  devote  to  it. 

I  ought  to  remark  in  this  place,  that,  when  selecting 
a  tract  for  a  conservatory,  the  mountains  must  be  excepted, 
because  they  are  the  resort  of  our  people  during  the  sum- 
mer months.  They  are  also  the  natural  sporting-grounds 
of  the  nation,  and  the  regulations  needful  to  a  forest  con- 
servatory would  not  be  tolerated  in  those  places,  which 
have  been  adopted  by  the  people  for  other  and  favorite 
purposes.  The  places  that  ought  to  be  selected  are  not 
the  mountainous  districts,  but  unproductive  spots  of 
uneven  and  diversified  surface,  which  would  be  com- 
pletely desolated,  like  the  bald  hills  of  many  parts  of 
Essex  County  in  Massachusetts,  if  all  were  left  to  the 
practical  instinct  of  the  community.  These  hills  were 


430  FOREST  CONSERVATORIES. 

formerly  covered  with  a  beautiful  growth  of  timber.  It 
would  be  less  difficult  now  to  cover  them  with  soil  by 
transporting  it  from  the  Mississippi  Valley,  than  to  restore 
their  wood.  The  most  barren  hills  may  be  kept  in  wood, 
after  Nature  has  once  planted  them;  but  after  their  surface 
has  been  entirely  cleared,  their  wood  cannot  be  restored 
without  the  use  of  means  which  would  be  impracticable. 
The  hilly  and  barren  tract,  still  partially  covered  with 
forest,  lying  in  Stoneham  and  Medford,  called  the  "  Five- 
Mile  Wood,"  is  well  known  to  the  inhabitants  of  Boston 
and  its  vicinity.  A  similar  region  I  would  select  for  a  for- 
est conservatory.  Every  State  iri  the  Union  contains 
half-wooded  barrens  of  a  similar  diversified  surface,  which 
might  be  dedicated  to  nature  without  diminishing  in  any 
degree  the  agricultural  resources  of  the  country. 

But  my  present  object  is  not  to  propose  measures  for 
the  sole  purpose  of  preserving  our  forests,  but  chiefly  to 
afford  asylums  for  the  harmless  creatures  that  originally 
inhabited  them.  This,  if  no  other  object  were  considered, 
has  become  a  necessity,  not  only  in  the  old  States,  but  in 
every  part  of  the  country,  to  prevent  that  complete  devas- 
tation which,  in  less  than  half  a  century,  is  sure  to  follow 
our  rapidly  increasing  population,  its  love  of  field  sports, 
and  its  material  demands.  Our  defenceless  animals  must 
find  a  sanctuary  in  every  region,  or  many  species  will  be 
entirely  extirpated  from  the  States.  I  do  not  doubt  that 
sufficient  fragments  of  forest  to  harbor  and  sustain  them 
would  be  left  in  all  parts  of  the  country ;  but  what  is  to 
save  them  from  the  guns  of  sportsmen  and  of  millions  of 
boys  who  at  all  seasons  of  the  year  amuse  themselves  by 
shooting  everything  that  has  life  ?  Some  persons  may 
not  see  the  importance  of  preserving  the  lives  of  these 
creatures.  It  would  be  idle  to  reason  with  any  one  who 
should  confess  so  much  stupidity.  Yet  there  is  many  an 
intelligent  person  whose  attention  needs  to  be  called  to 


FOEEST  CONSERVATORIES.  431 

the  subject,  before  he  can  be  assured  that  they  are  exposed 
to  any  such  danger. 

The  life  of  every  creature,  except  a  few  offensive  and 
dangerous  species,  should  be  held  sacred  in  this  wood  which 
is  to  be  their  sanctuary.  It  should  be  made  a  penal  of- 
fence to  kill  a  bird,  or  a  squirrel,  or  any  other  harmless 
creature  that  should  make  its  abode  here.  Many  may  be- 
lieve that  the  wild  animals  need  no  such  protection  as 
these  places  would  afford  them,  knowing  that  birds  are  as 
common  in  the  densely  peopled  countries  of  Europe  as  in 
our  own  sparsely  settled  land.  But  we  must  remember 
that  the  whole  land  system  of  America  differs  from  that 
of  Europe,  where  many  a  nobleman  owns  a  forest  that  is 
measured,  not  by  acres,  but  by  square  miles,  and  of  which 
his  farm  is  only  an  appendage.  In  these  princely  forests 
the  wild  animals  are  protected  by  game-laws,  which  are 
the  more  easily  enforced  because  they  do  not  extend  over 
the  whole  country.  The  game-laws  enacted  by  our  legis- 
latures have  proved  inadequate  to  protect  even  the  small 
birds  of  our  orchards  and  gardens,  and  must  ever  be 
powerless  for  their  preservation,  on  account  of  the  diffi- 
culty of  executing  laws,  over  a  wide  extent  of  territory, 
which  are  opposed  by  the  prejudices  of  the  people.  They 
might  be  enforced  in  grounds  set  apart  for  this  purpose, 
but  not  effectually  outside  of  them.  Others  having 
observed  the  great  numbers  of  species  that  multiply  in 
direct  proportion  as  the  land  is  tilled  and  cultivated  and 
the  wild  woods  removed,  believe  nothing  is  necessary  for 
their  protection.  This  subject  I  have  explained  in  my 
essay  on  Animals  of  the  Primitive  Forest. 

And  what  a  rare  opportunity  would  these  grounds  afford 
to  those  who  would  observe  the  ways  of  animals  in  their 
native  habitats !  The  birds  and  quadrupeds  would  soon 
become  tame  and  docile,  from  their  constant  security  and 
familiarity  with  people  who  would  not  molest  them. 


432  FOREST   CONSERVATORIES. 

Their  habits,  therefore,  could  be  watehed  more  carefully 
and  minutely  than  in  other  wooded  places,  where  they 
are  terrified  by  the  fowler,  who  causes  them  to  look  on 
man  as  their  natural  enemy.  In  a  few  years  we  should 
here  witness  scenes  which  have  never  before  been  exhib- 
ited on  any  magnificent  scale.  Visitors,  not  being  allowed 
to  shoot  or  entrap  any  living  things  in  these  grounds, 
would  amuse  themselves  by  making  them  their  pets.  It 
may  be  added  that  the  habits  of  those  who  visit  them 
would  infuse  a  regard  for  the  lives  of  these  innocent  crea- 
tures into  the  whole  population,  who  would  thenceforth 
afford  them  better  protection  in  private  grounds. 

Here  might  be  viewed  assemblages  of  natural  objects 
seldom  found  associated  in  other  places;  for  though 
tillage  is  to  be  excluded,  except  so  much  as  the  object  of 
the  establishment  requires,  all  the  wild  plants  of  every 
tribe  and  family,  as  well  as  the  small  animals  indigenous 
to  that  region,  would  be  gradually  introduced.  The  stu- 
dent of  natural  history  would  find  in  this  place  many 
species  now  scattered  widely  and  sparsely  over  the  coun- 
try, in  localities  which  are  difficult  to  be  visited  or  dis- 
covered. He  would  be  rewarded  with  the  sight  of  species 
that  have  been  absent  from  that  region  since  the  earliest 
clearing  had  been  made  of  the  primitive  forest.  Hare 
birds  would  sing  there  the  first  notes  they  had  warbled  in 
that  region  since  the  white  man's  cottage  has  taken  the 
place  of  the  Indian  wigwam. 

The  expenses  of  such  an  establishment  would  not  be 
great  after  the  original  purchase  of  the  land,  as  the  only 
improvements  required  or  permitted  would  be  the  resto- 
ration of  trees  to  certain  vacant  parts  of  the  land,  and  the 
construction  of  a  few  paths  to  render  the  grounds  con- 
veniently accessible.  These  paths  should  not  be  grav- 
elled. I  would  leave  them  to  be  overgrown  by  native 
herbs  and  grasses,  and  would  take  no  further  care  of  them, 


FOREST   CONSERVATORIES.  433 

except  to  keep  them  clear  of  impediments.  Nature 
would  rear  in  these  green  wood-paths  some  of  her  love- 
liest productions ;  and  the  varieties  of  wild  flowers  that 
would  spring  up  within  them  would  form  one  of  the 
principal  minor  attractions  of  the  place. 

I  would  discard  every  description  of  ornamental  gar- 
dening from  the  conservatory,  and  I  would  admit  no  man 
as  a  superintendent  who  had  been  indoctrinated  with  any 
ideas  of  "  aesthetics  "  as  applied  to  the  scenery  of  nature. 
Whenever  it  should  become  necessary  to  plant  any- 
thing to  fill  a  vacant  space,  or  to  supply  some  absent 
native  species,  it  should  be  planted  without  any  tasteful 
design.  If  any  kind  of  embellishment  were  admitted, 
from  that  time  the  true  object  of  the  place  would  be  for- 
gotten. But  I  would  not  exclude  the  plough  and  other 
implements  of  the  farm.  Some  amount  of  rustic  tillage 
would  be  needful  for  the  subsistence  of  the  birds  and  ani- 
mals which  the  place  is  designed  to  contain.  But  nothing 
should  be  raised  for  merchandise,  and  nothing  cultivated 
for  embellishment.  This  spot  is  to  be  nature's  own  sanc- 
tuary; no  gravelled  walks  should  disfigure  it,  no  taste- 
ful edifices  should  spoil  its  native  features,  no  picnic- 
parties  should  desecrate  it,  no  sportsmen  should  molest 
its  inhabitants.  No  artificial  seats  or  arbors  should  be 
provided  for  idlers  or  loungers.  It  should  not  be  open  to 
large  parties,  nor  shut  against  any  well-disposed  indi- 
viduals. 

It  might  be  supposed  that  an  establishment  of  this 
character  would  need  to  be  fenced,  to  protect  it  from  the 
intrusion  of  persons  who  would  not  obey  its  regulations. 
A  fence  would  not  be  necessary  for  this  purpose.  It 
would  be  sufficient  to  plant  trees  on  the  outside  of  the 
wood  in  such  a  manner  as  to  render  all  entrance  with  a 
horse  and  carriage  impossible.  The  most  of  the  paths 
should  be  only  a  few  feet  wide,  to  accommodate  pedestrians ; 


434  .  FOREST   CONSERVATORIES. 

and  the  few  driveways  constructed  should  commence  and 
terminate  at  the  house  of  the  superintendent,  to  be  closed 
with  a  gate,  and  designed  only  for  cartways  and  for  the 
accommodation  of  invalids,  not  for  recreation  or  amuse- 
ment. A  high  fence,  or  a  fence  of  any  kind,  would  be 
useless.  The  beauty  of  the  outside  of  a  wood  is  greatly 
injured  by  a  fence.  The  public  should  always  enjoy  the 
pleasure  of  beholding  an  unenclosed  forest,  which  a  per- 
son may  enter  on  foot  at  any  point  and  at  any  time. 

By  this  proposal,  I  recommend  no  luxurious  place  of 
resort  for  wealthy  men,  who  may  pass  their  summers  here 
in  enjoyments  from  which  others  are  excluded.  A  clause 
should  be  inserted  into  the  charter  of  the  institution  that 
would  render  such  diversion  from  the  original  object  of  the 
place  an  impossibility.  The  charter  should  be  such  that  no 
man  should  be  able  to  buy  privileges  which  are  not  gra- 
tuitously offered  to  every  individual  of  the  community. 
We  must  consider  that  a  place  of  this  kind  would  offer 
no  temptation  to  the  classes  who  frequent  fashionable 
resorts.  As  classes,  neither  the  fashionable  nor  the  vulgar 
would  feel  any  special  interest  in  it ;  but  to  certain  indi- 
viduals from  every  class  of  society  these  grounds  would 
afford  continual  pleasure  and  recreation. 

It  may  be  objected  that  the  time  has  not  yet  come  for 
an  enterprise  of  this  kind ;  that  the  country  is  not  yet 
sufficiently  divested  of  wood  to  render  such  conservatories 
necessary  for  the  purposes  designed  by  them.  It  is  ad- 
mitted that  we  cannot  pass  over  five  miles  of  any  road  in 
New  England  without  meeting  with  large  fragments  of 
wild  wood,  and  assemblages  of  trees  in  some  places  of  suffi- 
cient extent  to  be  called  forests.  But  these  woods  are 
liable  at  any  time  to  be  destroyed  by  the  owner,  who  is  not 
expected  to  preserve  them  a  day  after  it  is  plainly  for  his 
interest  to  fell  them.  Whenever  a  tract  of  forest  is  cleared, 
the  animals  of  all  kinds  that  harbored  there  are  expelled. 


FOREST  CONSERVATORIES.  435 

A  few  escape  immediate  destruction,  by  finding  shelter 
in  another  wood.  But,  after  being  deprived  of  their 
native  habitats,  they  are  exposed  to  the  fox,  the  hawk, 
and  the  gunner,  and  are  soon  destroyed.  A  gray  squirrel 
is  now  as  rare  in  our  woods  as  the  loon  in  our  ice-ponds. 
Our  wild  animals  are  disappearing  much  more  rapidly 
than  our  forests.  Something  must  soon  be  done  to  save 
them,  or  in  a  few  years  none  will  be  seen  except  in 
remote  and  unfrequented  regions. 

Let  us  now  consider  how  such  an  establishment  is  to 
be  supported.  All  similar  places  have  been  very  expen- 
sive, for  the  plain  reason  that  they  are  gardens,  requir- 
ing the  constant  labor  and  attention  of  many  hired  men. 
This  scheme  involves  no  such  expenses,  for  any  descrip- 
tion of  costly  labor  would  be  fatal  to  its  design.  Here  no 
idols  of  art  are  to  be  set  up  to  divert  men  from  the  study 
of  nature,  and  no  costly  appendages  to  be  constructed  for 
public  amusement.  But  if  an  inhabitant  of  another  State 
should  visit  Massachusetts  to  examine  our  native  forest 
and  its  indigenous  animals  and  plants,  by  entering  one  of 
these  conservatories  his  curiosity  would  be  gratified.  He 
would  there  behold  a  forest  inhabited  by  the  same  species 
of  plants  and  animals  that  existed  in  that  region  three 
hundred  years  ago.  Every  State  in  the  Union,  containing 
a  similar  conservatory,  would  afford  any  stranger  from 
another  State  or  from  abroad  the  same  gratification. 
Under  present  circumstances,  they  must  visit  a  great 
many  different  places,  very  remote  from  each  other,  to  see 
in  each  what  could  be  seen  there  in  one  natural  assem- 
blage. 

As  a  superintendent  of  the  grounds  some  person  of  su- 
perior knowledge  should  be  appointed,  who  is  sufficiently 
interested  in  the  study  of  nature  to  be  contented  with  a 
secluded  life  in  this  spot,  and  who  would  be  satisfied 
v.-ith  a  moderate  remuneration.  What  a  delightful  retreat 


436  FOREST  CONSERVATORIES. 

would  such  a  place  afford  to  a  clergyman  whose  pastoral 
cares  had  broken  down  his  health,  or  to  some  enthusiast, 
who  would  gladly  renounce  the  world  to  pursue  his  favor- 
ite science  !  These  conservatories  would  offer  so  many 
frugal  scholarships  for  the  devotees  of  natural  history, 
who  would  maintain  an  interesting  correspondence  with 
each  other  in  all  parts  of  the  land,  and  whose  observa- 
tions would  afford  new  acquisitions  to  science  by  which 
the  whole  world  might  be  benefited. 


INDEX. 


A- 

Agricultural  Progress 415 

Ailantus 346 

Alder Alnus  serrulaia 344 

American  "Wayfaring-Tree   .     .     .      Viburnum  lentago 240 

Andromeda 274 

Animals  of  the  Primitive  Forest 12 

Apple-Tree Pyrus  malus 75 

Arbor- Vitse Thuya  occidentals 399 

Arrow- Wood Viburnum  dentatum   ....  242 

Ash-Tree Ffaxinus  Americana  ....  2 

Aspen,  large Populus  trepida 336 

Aspen,  small Populus  tremuloides    ....  337 

Autumn  Woods 243 

Azalea 18 

B. 

Balsam  Fir Abies  balsamea 371 

Barberry Berberis  communis 53 

Bayberry Myrica  cerifera 233 

Beach-Plum Prunus  maritima 78 

Bearberry Arbutus  uva-ursi 178 

Beauty  in  Nature 228 

Beech-Tree Fagus  Americanus      ....  185 

Benzoin Laurus  benzoin 170 

Bittersweet Celastrus  scandens 191 

Blackberry Rubus  procumbens 192 

Black  Birch      . Betula  lenta 312 

Black  Poplar Populus  nigra 322 

Black  Spruce Abies  nigra 378 

Black  Walnut Juglans  nigra 209 

Buckthorn Rhamnus  catharticus  ....  353 

Burning- Bushes    .     .     .'    .  •  . 352 

Butternut    ........     Juglans  cinerea 208 

Buttonbush Cephalanthus  occidentalis     .     .217 


438  INDEX. 

c. 

Canada  Poplar Populus  ccmdicans 321 

Canoe  Birch Betula  papyracea 307 

Catalpa 46 

Checkerberry Gaultheria  procumbens    .     .     .178 

Cherry,  Black Prunus  Virginiana     .     .     .     ;  '99 

Cherry,  Choke .     ,     .     .     .     .     .     Prunus  serotina      .     .     .     .     .  98 

Cherry,  European.     .     ..',-.     .    Prunus  cerasus .     .....  99 

Chestnut      .     .     .'..'..  '..     Castanea  vesca 194 

Chokeberry.     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     Mespilus  arbutifolia    .     .     .     .105 

Clethra   .     .     .     .     ••„"..•     •     •     Clethra  alnifolia 218 

Clipped  Hedge-rows -. 171 

Cornel . 255 

Cornel,  Blue-berried Cornus  circinata 256 

Cornel,  Dwarf  .     .     .  '.'...   ,     .     Cornus  Canadensis      .     .     .     .257 

Cornel,  Florida Cornus  Florida 256 

Cornel,  Purple-berried    ....     Cornus  altertiifolia      ....  255 

Cornel,  White-berried    .'  .     .    .     Cornus  alba 256 

Cypress,  Northern Cupressus  thuyoides     ....  388 

Cypress,  Southern Taxodium  distichum  ....  389 

D. 

Dark  Plains 294 

Dewberry Rubus  sempervirens     ....  192 

Dogwood Rkus  vernix 264 

Dreary  and  Desolate,  The 100 

Dutch  Myrtle Myrwa  gale 233 

E. 

Eglantine Rosa  micrantha 283 

Elder Sambucus  Canadensis .     .     .     .266 

Elm,  English Ulmus  campestris  .     .     .     .     .  91 

Elm,  White      .     '.     .     .     .     .     .     Ulmus  Americanus     ....  85 

F. 

Fir .     .     .     .     Picea .     .     .  371 

Flowering  Raspberry      ...     .     .     Rubus  odoratus 192 

Foliage .;.     ..-..-..;•.     .     .--  .  •  ffr: 

Forest  Conservatories -...     .     .  426 

Forms  and  Expressions  of  Trees .     .     .     •'-&.' 

G. 

Glycine .'-...     Glydne  apios 190 

Grandeur  and  SubUmity 373 

Grapevine Vitis  labrusca 192 


'.-  ,  .  INDEX.  439 

Ground  Laurel      ......     Epigea  repens 177 

Guelder  Rose Viburnum  opulus 241 

H. 

Hardback Spiraea  tomentosa 144 

Hawthorn Cratcegus  oxyacantha   .     .     .     .145 

Hazel,  Beaked Corylus  rostrata 217 

Hazel,  Common Corylus  Americana     .     .     .     .216 

Heath Erica 273 

Hemlock Abies  Canadensis 362 

Hickory,  Bitternut Carya  amara 202 

Hickory,  Fignut Carya  ficiformis 202 

Hickory,  Shellbark Carya  squamosa 202 

Hickory,  "White Carya  alba 201 

Hobblebush Viburnum  lantanoides     .     .     .  241 

Holly Ilex  opaca 143 

Homeliness  of  Nature 164 

Honey  Locust Gleditschia 138 

Hop  Hornbeam Ostrya  Virginica 66 

Hornbeam Carpinus  Americana  ....  65 

Horse-Chestnut dEsculus 45 

I. 

Indian  Summer 315 

Insecurity  of  our  Forests 68 

J. 

Jersey  Tea Ceanothus  Americana  ....     54 

Juniper Juniperus  Virginiana      .     .     .397 

K. 
Kalmia 121 

L. 

Lambkill Kalmia  angustifolia   .     .     .     .123 

Larch Larix  Americana 360 

Laurel Laurus 169 

Lilac Syringa 52 

Lily-Ponds 180 

Lime Tilia  Americana    .....  113 

Locust Eobinia  pseudacacia    .     .     .     .136 

Lombardy  Poplar Populus  fastigiata 329 

M. 

Magnolia Magnolia  glauca 130 

Maple Acer 291 


440  INDEX. 

Meadow-Sweet       ......     Spiraea  alba 144 

Missouri  Currant Ribes  aureum 54 

Motions  of  Trees " 125 

Mountain  Ash Sorbus  Americana 106 

Mountain  Laurel Kalmialatifolia 121 

Mountain  Maple Acer  montana 292 

Mountains  ....'.-..; 258 

Myrtle Myrtus 232 

F. 

Northern  Cypress Cupressus  thuyoides     ....  388 

Norway  Spruce Abies  excelsa 379 

0. 

Oak ;    ,.-'..' '.,...     .     .151 

Oak,  Black Quercus  tinctoria 163 

Oak,  Red Quercus  rubra 161 

Oak,  Scarlet Quercus  coccinea 162 

Oak,  Scrub Quercus  ilicifolia 162 

Oak,  Swamp Quercus  bicolor 160 

Oak,  White Quercus  alba 159 

Odors  of  Vegetation M 

Old  Orchards 116 

Orchard  Trees  .     ..-...:.- -.     .     .  fi 

P. 

Pastoral  and  Romantic,  The -  81 

Peach-Tree Amygdalus ".78 

Pear-Tree Pyrua 7£ 

Picturesque,  The  .     .     .     .     . .--.-..     .     .131 

Pine,  Pitch Pinus  rigidus 422 

Pine,  White Pinus  strobus 409 

Pine  Woods .     .  . .     .     .     .365 

Plane-Tree Plotanus  occidentalis  ....  225 

Plum-Tree    .     .     ..,'..     .     Prunus ..'  .Vf-i 

Plumgranate    .......     Prunus  Americana     .     .     .     .     Tfl 

Poison  Ivy '..'.*,.     Rhus  radicans 190 

Poplar Populus   .     .     .  '  ,     4  ' .     .     .320 

Primitive  Forest,  The •.'..,.    '. •,  • ' -t| 

Privet Ligustrum  mdgare 353 

Q. 
Quince-Tree Pyrus  cydonia 77 


INDEX.  441 


Red  Birch Betula  rubra 314 

Red  Maple Acer  rubrum 299 

Red  Osier Cornus  drdnata 256 

Relations  of  Trees  to  the  Atmosphere 139 

Relations  of  Trees  to  Birds  and  Insects 308 

Relations  of  Trees  to  Ornament .     .    .  380 

Relations  of  Trees  to  Poetry  and  Fable 339 

Relations  of  Trees  to  Salubrity 277 

Relations  of  Trees  to  Soil 236 

Relations  of  Trees  to  Temperature 204 

Relations  of  Trees  to  Water 108 

Rhodora Rhodora  Canadeiisis     ....  19 

River  Maple  •     •     •  „ Acer 293 

River  Poplar .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .    Populus  rivalis 323 

Rock  Maple Acer  saccharinvm 292 

Rose Rosa 282 

Rotation  and  Distribution 30 

Rudeness  and  Simplicity 268 

Rural  Life  in  New  England 401 

Rustic  Lane  and  Woodside  .  .188 


S. 

Laurus  sassafras 169 

Seclusion  and  Freedom 301 

Sentiment  of  Antiquity,  The 196 

Smoke-Tree Rhus  cotinus 253 

Snowy  Mespilus MespUus  Canadensis    ....  104 

Sounds  from  Trees  . 324 

Spindle-Tree Euonymus      .     ......  352 

Spiraea 144 

Spontaneity 348 

Spruce Abies 377 

Spruce,  Black Abies  nigra 378 

Spruce,  Norway Abies  excelsa 379 

Spruce,  White Abies  alba 377 

Strawberry-Tree Euonymus 352 

Sugar  Maple Acer  saccharinum 292 

Sumach,  Poison Rhus  vernix 264 

Sumach,  Poison  Ivy Rhus  radicans 190 

Sumach,  Smooth Rhus  glabrum 264 

Sumach,  Velvet Rhus  typhinum 263 

Summer  Night  in  the  Woods 219 

Summer  Wood-scenery 147 

19* 


442  INDEX. 

Swamp  Honeysuckle Azalea  viscosa •'.   '^jjji 

Swamp  Rose Rosa  Caroliniana 283 

Sweetbrier Rosa  micrantha 283 

Sweet  Fern ..'_..    Comptonia  asplenifolia     .     .     .234 

Synopsis  of  Autumn  Tints 252 

T. 
Thoreau 392 

Trees  as  Electric  Agents  .     .     ...'.'.• 172 

Trees  for  Shade  and  Salubrity  .     .    . 277 

Trees  in  Assemblages 155 

Trout-Stream 332 

Tulip-Tree Liriodendron  tulipifera     .     .     .129 

Tupelo Nyssa  villosa ".     63 

V. 

Vernal  "Wood-scenery 40 

Viburnum,  Arrow- Wood      .     .     .     V.  dentatum 242 

Viburnum,  Hobblebush  .     .     .     .     V.  lantanoides 241 

Viburnum,  Maple-leaved     .     .     .     V.  acerifolium 241 

Viburnum,  Wayfaring-Tree .     .     .     V.  lentago 240 

Virginia  Creeper Ampelopsis 189 

Virgin's  Bower Clematis 193 

W. 

Wayside  Shrubbery 79 

Weeping  Willow Salix  Babylmica 37 

Western  Plane Platanus  occidental™    ....  225 

White  Birch Betula  alba 305 

White  Pine Pinus  strobus 411 

White  Spruce    .......     Alms  alba 377 

Whortleberry  Pasture      .     .     .    -. 210 

Whortleberries  and  Huckleberries 215 

Willow,  Swamp Salix  eriocephala 29 

Willow,  Yellow      .......     Salix  vitellina ~;ffS 

Winter  Wood-scenery 354 

Witch-Hazel 345 

Wood-Paths 285 

Woody  Nightshade Solanum  dulcamara    .     .     .     .190 

Y. 

Yellow  Birch     .     .    .    ......    Betula  excelsa 313 

Yew Taxiis  Canadensis   .  .     .  400 


Cambridge  :  Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  Welch,  Bigelow,  &  Co. 


CENTRAL  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 

University  of  California,  San  Diego 

DATE  DUE 


2 '5  1983 


DEC  14  1985 


039 


A     000  674  488 


. 
. 


